


The Immoral Game

by glenarvon



Series: Blindfold King [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Blood, Disturbing Themes, Drug Use, Gen, Gore, Mirror Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex, Space Battles, Suggestive Themes, Violence, alternate universe - prime lorca is a badass, reader discretion advised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 18:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 100,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: Imprisoned in a universe far more savage than his own, Gabriel Lorca fights and survives.





	1. Look Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Some basic knowledge of Drastic Measures is probably required to understand some of the details. While this isn't really a direct sequel, I'm definitely building on Blindfold King. So check it out first, if you're so inclined. 
> 
> **Title:** Don't think for a second I've ran out of chess references. The _Immortal_ Game was a chess match characterised by bold sacrifices. But to say it with T. E. Lawrence: "Immorality I know. Immortality I cannot judge." And besides, it _is_ the mirrorverse.

In Lorca's estimate, he spent roughly a week in sheer agony, though he'd be the first to admit it was hard to keep track of the passage of time. After that week, Landry got cold feet and had him transferred to the brig, apparently due to medical concerns.

"I thought you'd be made of stronger stuff," she had sneered as she oversaw his transfer. They could've just as easily beamed him from one confinement to another, but instead, two muscular terrans hauled him from the booth and dragged him to a cell, never waiting for him to get his legs to work.

He'd glanced at Landry and bared his teeth through the daze.

"Michael Burnham would beg to differ," he'd said, though his speech came out slurred like he was drunk or close to hysterics. He still wasn't sure the latter hadn't been the case, either. The mind broke different for everyone, after all, and maybe that was just his cracks starting to show.

Landry had huffed and the terrans tossed him into the cell. The energy field was up long before he'd found the edge of the narrow bed to pull himself up to his knees and struggle around. Settling his elbow on the thin mattress, he'd given Landry a slow smile.

"What? Not joining me?" he patted the bed suggestively "You sure?"

She'd taken a step forward, staring down at his slumped form.

"Free advice," she'd said. "Watch it."

She'd made a sharp gesture at the terrans and had marched off with them.

Only later, somewhat recovered from his time in the booth, when his head cleared, he realised her warning had been made in earnest. He had no rights in this place, no power of his own, and no leverage. There was a chance he could seduce his way out of the cell, but more than likely it would simply backfire and he'd end up raped. He wasn't feeling quite that desperate just yet. The only reason he had been left mostly unscathed was respect for and fear of their captain. There was no telling what resentment some of his subordinates might have stewing just underneath their loyalty. No point in giving them ideas.

It turned out, he was no longer on the ISS Buran, either, nor was he even on a spaceship. The subtle difference in gravity betrayed it, once he had the leisure to notice. He was either on a large space-station or possible a small moon. The brig was larger, too, long rows of cells were occupied, though the energy fields filtered sounds, so he couldn't even talk with anyone to learn more.

In many ways, the cell turned out to be worse than the booth.

It didn't take his mind very long to sling him right back into his memories and make him retrace all his steps of that fateful night on the Buran. He was left chasing a million branching off alternatives. Something, _anything,_ he could've done to change the outcome. He found so many flaws in his logic, so many errors in the orders he'd given and the action he had taken.

The bitter truth was, he had not been ready for a fight. Certainly not for this one, but also not for any other. His crew had not been ready for one. A month into a brutal war, and neither he nor anyone under his command, were able to hold their own, leading him right into that one, last, desperate irrevocable decision. He'd set himself up for it. He'd made too many mistakes along the way and then there had been no other option left. It was on his head, all of it, forever.

Dimly, he knew he was suffering some interesting cocktail of various psychological issues. Depression, survivor's guilt, PTSD, and whatever it was that was causing him to find the self-diagnosis rather amusing. He tried to picture Kat Cornwell in their shared dorm room, all those years ago at the Academy, giving him an unimpressed glare at his interruption of her study, wondered what her commentary would be, but found he couldn't really recall her voice. He'd heard she'd made rear admiral just after the war broke out. No doubt a shrink was _exactly_ who the war effort needed on the helm. He found that amusing, too and wondered if his counterpart might accidentally end up helping the Federation in an effort to maintain his cover. That terran taste for violence might actually come in handy.

The only _other_ available entertainment was the agony booth just in his line of sight, speculating on what minor transgression the occupant had committed to be left to its tender mercy.

Some two months into his imprisonment, he was ripped from an uneasy sleep by the shrill howl of an alarm. He opened his eyes to flickering lights and wasted no time. He swung from the narrow bed and rushed to the front of the cell, hoping the energy field had gone down, but it was holding solid, pushing back against him even as he leaned in, trying to get a better look at what was going on outside.

He spotted guards running back and forth outside, clearly mobilising at a moment's notice and leaving the brig unattended. The lights flickered again and for a moment, he felt the pressure of the energy field lessen just a little. The station rocked, the sound of a low and deep grumble vibrating up from the floor through his soft shoes.

The woman currently enjoying the agony booth suddenly shrieked, several octaves higher than the hoarse wailing she had been releasing for the past few hours, the sound barely human anymore, then she crumpled into an untidy heap, twitching as the booth continued to deliver its overcharge.

The station continued to shake, from somewhere out of sight, black smoke began to fill the room.

The energy field went down. Lorca threw himself past it, never wasting time on a coordinated landing. He dropped face first to the floor and felt a searing heat on the heel of his foot. He scrambled back up, glanced around to orient himself and found no immediate threat. The energy field had come back on and sheared off the back of his shoe, but only blistered the edge of his heel.

The man in the cell next to him hadn't been quite so lucky. The energy field had cut from his shoulder down the middle of his body, spilling his guts on the floor inside and outside his cell. At least he had been dead before he could even scream and the look on his face was nothing but bewilderment. Lorca arched his brows at him, silently congratulating the man's luck as well as his own.

He cast a glance over the rows of cells and contemplated giving his companions in misfortune a shot at freedom, but he decided against it. He didn't even know where the controls to the cells were, let alone how to override them. Besides, there was no telling if these people wouldn't just show their gratitude by turning against him. He ran towards where he knew the doors were, hissing at the pain in his heel.

The doors gaped open just wide enough to squeeze through into a hallway, several bodies lay on the floor, bearing the marks of terran weapons, not dissimilar to the sights he remembered from the Buran. Some terrans wore different uniforms, but he wasn't even sure if these denoted the attackers or just another branch of his counterpart's private army.

He snatched a carbine from the floor, checked its charge status and frowned at its nearly depleted state. Before he could look for another, the harsh snarl of a terran weapon made itself heard and a moment later, two women edged back into the corridor, keeping each other covered while someone unseen kept firing at them.

Lorca shrugged and fired at them, a blast to the back of their heads each and he jumped forward to pick one of their rifles from their fingers as they dropped down. He pressed his back against the wall by the corner.

It was rather liberating in a way, not having to worry about who he was shooting at. He had no friends in this place, so everyone was fair game.

He waited for a break in the shooting, ducked low and leaned around the corner, found his targets hiding behind metal support beams on either side of a tunnel of rough-hewn rock. One of the terrans had stepped his foot too far out and the rifle took off his leg by the knee. He howled and went down. His companion, rather than drop back into cover, fired at him. Lorca managed to twist back around the corner and the shot only took off the edge of the doorway, flinging splinters at him that cut easily through his flimsy prison clothes.

He paced himself and waited. The terran was the one with the proper equipment, the armour, and the secret weapons stashed around her person. She could be bothered to come for him if she wanted him that badly. It'd get her out of her protected position and give him a momentary edge to take her out.

He shot a glance down the hallway in the other direction. The tunnel ahead led deeper into the structure, an asteroid or moon, into which the base had been dug. The base shuddered under constant impacts — Lorca guessed they were most likely being bombarded — but structural damage seemed minimal, at least at his location. Something of the setup smacked of an inside job. If the base was built into a stellar object, sensitive systems, like computer mainframes and power sources would be deep inside the rock and no surface attack would be able to take them out in the way it had happened.

Soon now.

He edged back a step from the corner and straightened up, anticipating the terran's approach. He couldn't hear her against the background noise, but his own impatience was a good enough indicator.

The terran swung around the corner a second faster than he had thought, opening fire without wasting time on marking his new location. He still had half a second before her shots actually reached him, enough to get one of his own in, although it wasn't a killing shot. The rifle blast punched into her armoured shoulder and knocked her sidearm from her hands and threw her back.

Lorca jumped after her, twisting the terran knife he had taken from a dead body. He expected her to fight back, his shot had injured her and thrown her off-balance but it wouldn't be enough to make the fight go out of her. Indeed, she'd already scrambled up a sidearm and pulled it half-way up to aim at him when she stopped, eyes going wide in shock.

He already knew what that meant. And it was already getting old.

He smacked her sidearm aside, dropped to a knee by her side and plunged the knife into her throat just to wipe that expression from her face. It was one thing to watch enemies run scared, it was entirely another if they only did so because they took him for somebody else entirely.

The noise of fighting grew louder behind him and ahead gaped the tunnel leading deeper into the base. Not an ideal direction, he thought as he hurried towards it. A moment's quiet and an unattended computer console, on the other hand, would be most welcome.

The fight had left him more winded than he would've liked, too, and he slowed down out of caution as much as necessity. Being confined in a cell barely large enough to stretch out in, insufficient nutrition and a depressive lack of motivation hadn't been kind to his state of fitness.

He moved forward carefully, keeping to the shadows where he could, biding his time with a sidearm or a terran knife when he came across someone. It took a stretch of quiet corridor to make him think how many people he'd just killed without a second thought. He'd labelled them as enemies and then it hadn't mattered anymore. Never mind that they _were._ This was an insidious place, further from home than he could ever imagine being and more alone than anyone else in this entire, damned universe. Made him wonder where the hell he was going, what would he even do with freedom?

He came past an open door and inside was exactly what he had been looking for, a computer console set against the wall of a storage room.

The door controls refused to work. He sighed and kept an eye on the doorway and the corridor while he went to the console. The computer refused his voice commands but accepted manual input without issue.

At a first glance, he found nothing of particular interest. A duty roster, some correspondence he had no time or patience to comb for clues. A little more searching revealed they were on a star-base dug into an S-type asteroid, towed into a stable orbit around a small, frozen planet far from its star. He found mention of a colony on the class M planet in the local solar system, but no further reference to it. It made sense to hide a space station in an otherwise inhabited system, it made ships coming and going much less conspicuous.

He heard voices and the quiet, telltale clattering of armoured and armed soldiers marching down an empty hallway. Four or more, by the sound of it.

The console still refused to spit out a layout for the base.

The steps got closer and Lorca abandoned the console and dipped into the darkness of the storage room to hide. The footsteps jostled outside and Lorca bared his teeth in a silent snarl. He'd cut it too close.

He listened to them call orders to each other, take up positions outside and then the first terran walked in, sidearm ready, a second following close behind. Under their cover, a third slipped inside and went to the console.

Lorca edged forward, unlike the terrans, he was able to move quietly enough to not be heard. Moving in slow-motion he brought his sidearm up and folded his other hand around for a steadier grip. Terran sidearms had a higher rate of fire than standard phasers, as well as shooting short sharp pulses, not unlike the bullets of the guns of centuries past.

The terran at the console found the light controls and a dim orange glow filled the room slowly, mindful of the terrans' eyesight.

Lorca fired three shots in quick succession, gave the nearest shelf a hard shove and it fell across the door, briefly blocking it, while he retreated further back into the room and took cover behind several crates.

The shelf prevented the terrans from easily flooding into the room and simply overwhelming him with their numbers, but he had merely postponed the inevitable.

He exchanged several more shots with them, deterring them from pushing through the door while he retreated, vaguely hoping to find a second exit.

A terran made it inside and managed to take cover before Lorca could take him out, giving covering fire for the others to squeeze past the shelf.

They started to push forward, forcing him to keep his head down more than return fire. The crate he was leaning against melted right next to him and he dove behind a shelf, rolled into a crouch and brought the sidearm around to shoot at the nearest terran.

From closer to the door, a voice shouted, "Hold your fire!"

It took a long second for the order to register correctly and Lorca felt disinclined to follow it, leaned out of his cover, found a target and shot.

"It's him!" another terran shouted. By then, they had found cover and Lorca drew back a little more from them, scanning the room for a solution to his problem.

"Gabriel Lorca!" the first terran shouted, Lorca assumed he was the unit leader. "We've got you cornered! Surrender!"

Yeah right, Lorca sneered inwardly. Were they honestly dumb enough to think it would work? If _he_ had _Gabriel Lorca_ at gunpoint, he'd pull the trigger until he ran out of charge. He certainly wouldn't be giving him a chance to surrender. Which was, he supposed, their most marked difference. The other one had wanted to play first.

"You want me?" Lorca shouted back, too many teeth in his grin, carrying in his voice. "You've gotta come and get me!"

He sensed the terrans' indecision in the pause and the curious lack of movement from the rest of the room. He glanced down at the sidearm to check its charge level and pulled a grimace.

"You have—!" the unit leader started, but his voice dispersed into a surprised, pained scream, followed by several other, similar screams. An errand weapon beam cut into the shelf above Lorca and dislodged several smaller packages.

Lorca waited, blinked irritably.

Another shout came from outside, "Hey! Don't shoot! It's me!"

Lorca was still grinning, recognising Landry's deep voice. He laughed, "Why should I?" he asked.

"Because these are Imperial soldiers!" Landry sounded angry and impatient and not just a little winded. If he had to guess, she was as close to panic as she could ever get.

"You're all the same to me," he shouted back, edged forward and stole a glance around the room. Landry had dispatched the others with familiar efficiency. Under different circumstances, he might even admire it.

There was another pause, Landry gave orders to her soldiers he was too far away to understand, then she walked into the room. Her arms were raised, terran carbine loosely in one hand as she tried to appear non-threatening.

"You are the face of the emperor's greatest enemy," she said, doing her best to sound reasonable. She squinted into the room, trying to find where exactly he was. "They won't care that you're not him. All they want is the glory."

He laughed and Landry focussed in his direction.

"I'm trying to save you!" she insisted.

"Hardly."

He took a deep breath and levered himself to his feet and stepped out to face her. Her sight, if anything, justified his amusement. She was full of restrained anger and worn-out patience, breathing hard from combat adrenaline, tense to the breaking point when everything around her was falling apart. He almost believed she was sincere.

"I can help you," she said. "Whatever you think, you're not prepared for what they'll do to you. You couldn't handle the booth here, and we needed you alive and well."

He snorted at her choice of words but didn't interrupt her.

"What the emperor will do is nothing compared to this," Landry spoke urgently. "She will destroy you. Your body, your mind, everything. And it'll take years."

When he didn't respond, she added, "Please." Her voice had gone faint and if he hadn't been so focussed on her, he probably would've missed the plea entirely. Now, this was an interesting revelation. She was truly scared for him, or at least the man with his name and face, but he knew well enough that Landry had a hard time telling the difference sometimes.

He walked forward, swung his tired legs into a long-legged stride to cross the distance between them, brought up the sidearm and pressed it to her forehead. She flinched back, just slightly, before her neck went rigid against the pressure.

"So, _Ellen,"_ he drawled her name. "Why should I trust you?"

She blinked irritably as the sidearm made it hard for her to meet his gaze.

"We were betrayed," she spoke quickly. "Stamets and some others. We have no option but to scatter and hope we can regroup later. The Empire cannot have you, but…"

She hesitated, her tongue came out to wet her lips. She swallowed. "I'm letting you go, okay? We have agents down on the planet, they'll hide you."

"You didn't really answer the question," he said. "Why should I trust you?"

"What better offer do you have?" she asked back.

Much as he hated to admit it, she made a better argument than he had expected her to. He eased the barrel from her forehead reluctantly, upper lip curling in disdain.

Landry never relaxed and for a moment he almost saw the moves of her attack choreographed hanging in the realm of possibilities between them. Not so long ago, he'd have been entirely confident he could take her on, but things had changed since then. If she wanted him back in that cell, she'd probably get him there.

"I'm keeping this," he said, indicating the sidearm.

She only shrugged as she turned back and motioned her soldiers in. "I'll give you an extra charge."

A young woman handed her a communicator and Landry flipped it open.

"All right, I've got him. Is the shuttle ready?"

Lorca scanned the terrans inside and outside the room, not sure if he was glad to see no familiar faces or disappointed. They were avoiding his gaze and not only because they were keeping watch of the corridor outside. For most of these, the novelty of him probably hadn't worn off yet.

"Okay, beam us over," Landry said and Lorca snapped his head around, but before he could make an argument, the transporter beam slipped over him.

His consciousness blinked.

He stood in the back of a shuttle, next to Landry. She hurried to the pilot's seat and the shuttle powered up. He strode after her and took the seat by her side. The shuttle hangar had suffered some damage and theirs seemed to be one of the last shuttles in it. The great hangar doors had been blast open, heavy metal curled away from the domed roof like aluminium foil, great pieces of debris had rained down and buried deep into the ground, leaving several damaged shuttles buried underneath.

"We can't fly directly," Landry said, hands resting on the controls, as she manoeuvred the shuttle upwards and through the destroyed doors. The view opened. Some distance away, two large starships hung in space, their phaser batteries still firing on the asteroid, chipping away at it.

"We'll follow the asteroid belt's orbit, using its sensor shadows to mask us. I'm setting a course so we'll be relative behind the sun and able to rendezvous with the fourth planet. The terran ships can't pick us up directly. They'll be able to sniff us out and come after us, but we've got some time."

"Good," he said and got up to walk to the back of the shuttle.

He went through the compartments along the roof, strewing the contents he didn't need untidily around him until he'd found a medkit. It was marked with a bleeding knife.

He sat down and sorted through its contents until he found what he was looking for and finally fixed his heel.

"Tell me about your agents," he said and flexed his foot before he got back up and resumed his search.

Landry swivelled her chair around and watched him.

"They'll help hide you."

"You've said that."

"They are… not what you expect terrans to be like."

"I like them already."

Landry huffed. "I doubt it. There was some trouble a few years ago, but it's been peaceful since. It's mostly a bunch of docile farmers and a few eggheads not ambitious enough to find a better position. It doesn't have much of a military presence, that works in our favour. Search parties won't be on their home turf."

His search finally paid off when he found a stack of shrink-wrapped engineer's jumpsuits, shirts, and boots.

"And your captain worked with them?" Lorca asked, unable and unwilling to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Helpless farmers and lazy scientists?"

He ripped open the packaging of the clothes, then pulled the frazzled prison shirt over his head and tossed it away.

"No one is going to look at them twice," Landry said. She didn't sound convinced of the argument, so Lorca assumed she was only parroting her captain without realising the true importance of it. To terrans, power and ambition were everything. For someone like his counterpart to be willing to deal with people who had neither must be strange and foreign. Which, of course, just made it that much more effective.

He glanced over his shoulder and found Landry looking back at him with just a hint of smugness in her expression and a glint in her eyes. He arched a brow at her and continued to undress.

She watched him in silence and eventually said, "I'm going to beam you down outside the city. The military base is understaffed, but they would pick up an unscheduled transport. You'll need to hike into the city and make sure you get there before I'm picked up."

He zipped up the jumpsuit halfway up his chest and returned to the seat next to her.

"You're still not joining me?" he asked.

She scrunched her nose. "No, I'm going to take the shuttle back to the base and make sure you're covered. The Buran is inbound and she'll give the Imperial ships the fight they deserve, but until then, you need to be off the base."

"You seriously think you'll get me back into the bottle?" he asked. "You said you'll let me go."

A small smile threatened her serious expression. "I am, just not for very long."

He shook his head and leaned back in the seat, finding a ledge on the side to rest his leg up on as he reclined. Silence fell again as he waited for her to work out what his lack of denial might mean.

She gave him a sharp look, gaze running up and down in a far more serious scrutiny than when she'd observed him change. "You have nowhere to go."

He wanted to go home, but there was no point in trying to make her understand the sentiment. He inclined his head and continued to say nothing.

Landry frowned, took her gaze away from him and settled it back on the controls, adjusting their course slightly. The shuttle dipped into the shadow of an asteroid.

"What am I looking for down there?" he said finally. "Don't give me the runaround. You want me alive, you tell me everything."

She took a deep breath and said nothing, clearly still dissembling what information she was willing to let him have, suspecting he was going to take everything and use it against her eventually. She was absolutely right about it.

"Commander," he said, unyielding command in his voice. "Now."

It did make her jump, she managed to cover it, but he was going to take any victory he could with as much glee as he could muster.

"I'm beaming you down outside the city," she said.

"Yes, and I'll walk from there. Next."

She squared her shoulders at his tone. "We'll be coming in on the night-side, you'll probably make it to the city before curfew ends at 4 am. They run sensor sweeps across the city. Under absolutely no circumstances can you let anyone try to ID you."

She hit a key on the controls and got up, waded through the mess he'd left in the back of the shuttle and returned a moment later with a PADD in hand. She tapped on it a few times, then handed it to him.

"Memorise it," she said. "That's where you need to go and the sensor sweep search pattern."

It was a city layout, mapping out where he needed to go and the blind timing for sensor blind-spots. He scrolled through it, main avenues and side streets. It looked familiar in the way too many things in this universe did, something he'd seen before that didn't quite match up with his expectation.

Landry continued to speak. "You're wearing an Imperial uniform, so that should give you some leeway, you don't have to conceal your weapon and don't be afraid to use it."

"When am I ever," he muttered, but he was barely paying attention anymore, engrossed in the map in his hands.

Landry made an unimpressed snort. "Once you reach the agent, do whatever he says, it's in your own best interest. He's a doctor at the research institute. He has some traction with the colonial administration and heads our network on the planet. You'll be safe."

"How many members does your network have?"

"You don't need to know."

He growled in irritation. "Are you really going to make me ask again?"

"Six," she answered, reluctantly.

"What's the military complement?"

"Nineteen soldiers and their commanding officer, their home base is in the city, but they're responsible for all settlements on the planet, which is mostly farmland anyway and just about a fifty-thousand permanent population across the planet. I heard their commander might be a sympathiser, but that's just hearsay."

He nodded and lowered the PADD to look outside and watch the asteroids glide by. "You said there was trouble a few years ago," he prompted.

"A rebel group engineered a fungal infection of the crops and released it. It destroyed most of the harvest and infected food stocks, causing a famine."

He looked at her, frowning. He passed another glance over the PADD and the map still displayed on it. He said, "No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" Landry asked. "Of course it did. There was unrest, but the administration got it under control." She chuckled a little. "Are you sure you're ready to hear how it went down? Your Federation sensibilities aren't going to like it."

"There was a famine," he said.

Confusion slowly crept into her voice at his changed demeanour and she chose to interpret it as a challenge. He didn't care.

Landry said, "You asked for it. It went down in two stages. First, the governor ordered the alien population corralled, killed and recycled as raw material for the food replicators. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough, so she and her staff worked out who of the remaining people was valuable. Everyone who wasn't…"

"Was killed," he finished. "You _ate_ them?"

Landry shrugged. "It was a sacrifice for the greater good. Governor Ribiero has been awarded for her quick thinking and decisive action in a crisis. She saved the colony."

"Ribiero," he repeated. "This is Tarsus IV."

"Yes, and?"

Lorca brought his head around and narrowed his eyes at her. A moment later, he said, "Nothing, keep talking."

He let Landry's voice wash over him as she outlined further details about the city, the military complement and his contact. She even threw in a few tips on terran etiquette he barely paid attention to. From what he understood about terrans was that almost every issue could be dealt with by applying violence. It wasn't such a difficult lesson to remember.

Of all the places in the universe, his own and possibly this one even more so, Tarsus IV was the last place he ever wanted to see again. On some especially bad nights, he'd found the thought of its mere existence unbearable. To realise that his bitter memories of the massacre didn't represent even remotely the worse case scenario didn't help in the least.

"Get some sleep," Landry said. "You need to be up and running when we get there. You look like fucking death."

Sleep was the furthest from his mind, even though he felt like _fucking death,_ too. He forced himself to relax, push his shoulders back into the seat and pretend to be casually unaffected. He pulled a leg up and wedged his knee against the console for an even more insolent position.

"What about the situation on the base?" he asked to distract Landry's growing suspicions, but mostly to distract himself.

"Don't worry about it," Landry said, clearly unhappy at the direction.

He pursed his lips in a sneer and shook his head. "Let's see if I get it straight, shall we?" he said. "You got sold out and your emperor has pounced on you with two starships which, last we've heard, have put your station under constant fire. It's going to take the base apart and probably the whole damn asteroid, too. At the same time, they've got quite a lot of boots on the ground. Don't go telling me you've had contingencies for this, you haven't. I wouldn't be here and neither would you. This is a panic reaction."

Landry made a low sound at the back of her throat but didn't answer. She fiddled with the controls, but even without checking, he could tell she was only doing it to occupy her hands.

"Your chain of command has broken down and you don't know who you can trust anymore."

"Should we self-destruct, then?" Landry asked, just a little too satisfied with having found a dagger she could launch at his heart. As far he was concerned, it was entirely too predictable to have any impact.

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"We'll regroup," she said, the implication clear. None of his ever could. "The Buran's weapons are going to make short work of the Imperial starships."

"Unless her crew's compromised, too."

"Captain Lorca hand-picked them, they can be trusted absolutely."

"Everything I've seen of your universe tells me absolute trust is a shortcut to an early grave. Hell, even in my universe I'd be stingy with who I'd trust absolutely."

"You have no idea what the captain means to us all."

Lorca waved it away. "Something different for everyone, but you're all the same to him."

He turned his head towards her, waited a moment until she stopped making unnecessary adjustments with her hands and he knew he had her attention.

"Just look at you," he said. "You should be thanking me. After all, I got rid of your competition."

The way she went still for just a moment told him the blow had connected, though he wasn't even sure anymore himself what the point of needling her was. He'd had his suspicions about her promise to let him go. Even if she'd been serious about it, he still had nowhere to go in this universe and a host of enemies that weren't his to contend with no matter what he did.

Landry's mouth twitched as she tried to smooth her expression into a sardonic smile.

"You're very proud of that, aren't you," she said. "I'll tell you something about terrans that you don't seem to have figured out yet."

She turned her head, faced him and the smile crawled up her face to her eyes. "Every single one with a rank has killed a dozen formidable warriors. You've killed only one. No one's impressed."

Lorca chuckled, shrugged and settled into the seat again. He crossed his legs at the ankles, resting them comfortably high on the console.

"Well, I _was_ incarcerated," he said. He tried not to think about the tiny dot of light ahead of them, slowly growing in size as they got closer. The lush meadows and dark jungles spanning the continents of Tarsus IV, the deep-blue ocean and the boiling clouds being whipped across the sky. Memories of a spring evening on the beach, longer ago and further away than the heart could bear.

"I'll catch up soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Last revised on 18/Nov/2018_


	2. Wretched Highs

New Anchorage lay under a dome of bright floodlights, filling the empty streets with unrelenting brightness. A slow drizzle of frosty rain had started shortly after Lorca had beamed down and he'd pulled up his collar and dug his hands into the pockets of the jumpsuit as he made his way into the city.

He tried to recall when he'd last breathed fresh air and walked on the solid ground of a planet. The silence was different than out in space, too. It wasn't that there were no sources of sound in space, the noise just could not traverse that great emptiness. The darkness outside New Anchorage was filled with the chirping of insects and the whispering of wind, the faint sound of tiny raindrops hitting the ground.

By the time he reached Doctor Culber's house, he had quite enough of the enforced introspection. It was like he'd never left the cell, his mind going in the same circles it had been for months with no resolution in sight.

It irritated him that he had found no flaw in Landry's logic of sending him here. Letting him out and leaving him on his own didn't seem smart at first, but she was right. He had nowhere else to go and if he didn't come up with an alternative fast, they would just stick him back into that cell where he would die of boredom, if nothing else.

The night was young, though, the terrans on the station would fight it out until the Buran arrived. He had no ETA for that and he cursed himself for not asking. It'd have given him an idea of how much time _he_ had down here to get his bearings.

The house was a one-story brick building in the same quaintly overcome style Tarsus' upper class had favoured in his universe as well. Surrounded by a high wall, the house seemed more like a small fortress, sensors picking up his approach as he stepped on the raked gravel of the path leading in between the wall towards the front door.

It swung open on soundless hinges to reveal a short hallway, dimly lit and outlining the tall, willowy form of a female kelpien. She had her hands folded in front of her, gaze cast down and shoulders slightly hunched forward in an attempt to appear less tall. He still only reached her shoulder, but it didn't feel like it.

"I'm looking for Dr. Culber," Lorca said.

The kelpien twisted her head a little to the side, to bring him into better focus. Someone moved into the hallway behind her and called, "Yes yes, that's me. Irsa, get that fine piece of ass off the street before somebody sees it!"

The voice wavered, uncertain of its pitch and loudness and as the kelpien shifted out of the way to press herself into the corner next to the door to allow Lorca to pass, Lorca saw the man who'd spoken lean a heavy shoulder into the wall while his body continued to sway just slightly.

The man's face had an unhealthy pallor, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, even as the white floodlights spilled inside. He didn't blink. He wore nothing but a pair of boxers, revealing the thin sheen of sweat covering his body.

Considering the greeting, Lorca shelved the half-cooked idea of trying to impersonate his counterpart for the time being. He stepped inside and the kelpien twitched forward behind him to close — and lock —the door.

"You got here _fast,"_ Culber said, pushed himself from the wall and made a sweeping gesture with one hand, which looked like he was about to bow with a mocking flourish, but then thought better of it. "I just got finished decoding Landry's message. Come on in, I'll give you the ground rules."

Culber wobbled along the hallway and Lorca strode after him, taking in the security console set into the wall close to the door and the two closed doors branching off. Culber led him through an open, arched hallway into what seemed to be a curious combination of private lab and living room. Something smelled odd and Lorca glanced over the equipment. He spotted a tray with injections laid out and wondered if that was what the good doctor had been sampling through the night.

"Sit down," Culber said and dropped himself on the couch at the centre of the room. Lorca walked around the couch, saw no obvious other seats close by and elected to remain standing, looking down on the doctor along the length of his nose and assessing his state.

"Suit yourself," Culber huffed. "Just so we get this straight, you giving me attitude isn't going to make this any easier."

"You're on drugs," Lorca said.

"Yes!" Culber confirmed with a wide grin. "It's my night off! It's when I test the _product_! Landry never had any decency to leave a man his peace."

Lorca arched a questioning brow. "And that's my problem because?"

A brief spike of anger crossed Culber's face, mixed with sudden anxiety and several other emotions that were gone too quick to name, his grin became flat as the blood drained from his face. He took several deep breaths, swayed a little.

"Oh… not good," he muttered.

Lorca examined his feelings for any traces of sympathy, but couldn't summon any. The man was a terran, even in that pitiful state. What's more, he was a scientist on this universe's Tarsus IV. For all Lorca knew, he'd been involved in the massacre. But even if he hadn't, Lorca doubted he'd disapprove of it, which was enough to condemn him in Lorca's book.

"What did Landry's message say?" he asked.

A shudder went through the doctor as he pulled himself together and turned a stare up at Lorca. His brows drew together in confusion.

"Oh, cap—-?" he stopped himself as his brain clicked back in. He pushed the heel of his hand against his temple. "You've got to stay here," he finally said. "In the house. Don't even look at the garden. Don't…"

"I guess a morning run is out of the question then."

The look of panic on the doctor's face was entirely too satisfying to feel bad about.

"Do you want to get us all killed?"

Lorca shrugged. "Maybe someday," he tilted his head. "But I'll make sure it's a surprise."

This time, the confusion settled deeper into the doctor's expression. He pushed harder with his hand against his head and dipped to the side a little.

"I… uh…"

He blinked a few times, clearly lost the thread and turned his head to shout, "Irsa!"

Lorca watched the kelpien silently shuffle into the room, holding the same subservient pose. He'd be very surprised to learn that the kelpien worked here of her own free will. The terrans' disregard for aliens had been too obvious from the start to leave many alternatives.

"That's Irsa," Culber said. "She's my servant."

"Your slave, you mean," Lorca said, despite knowing better than to start this discussion with a terran who was clearly not all there anyway.

"Well," Culber said. "She's a rescue, you know. She's got a birth defect and the breeder couldn't use her so she was going to be put down."

"She's a member of a warp-capable species."

Culber chortled at the absurdity of the idea and shook his head. This caused him to make a displeased sound at the back of his throat and he dry-heaved once.

"She gives really nice foot massages," Culber said as if that was an adequate explanation. In his mind, it probably was. He looked at her and said, "Get the guest room ready, we have… a guest."

Lorca watched her leave with a bow and heard her hooves clatter away quietly in another part of the house. He turned back to Culber.

"Guest, am I?"

Culber gave him a wave and a wan smile. "I got some handcuffs if it makes you feel better, but… where you gonna go anyway?"

Lorca chose to ignore the question until he came up with a decent answer. "I need access to your information network."

Culber choked on his own laugh. "Nice try. Not gonna happen."

He pulled himself to his feet, gave Lorca a bleary-eyed look and stood for a long moment almost motionless. Then he collapsed in slow-motion, folding at the knees and upper body bending forward as if his spine had been pulled out.

Lorca took a step back so the man didn't drop right on his boots. He regarded the unconscious doctor for a long moment, considering his options. Only then did he step forward and put a hand on the man's shoulder. Culber came back and blinked up at him slowly. A lax smile spread across his face.

"Oh wow," he slurred, dropping his head back so he could stare at Lorca until his consciousness winked back out and he went limp again. This time, Lorca crouched down and caught him. The doctor's head rolled at his shoulder and some rigidity returned to his body.

"Captain?" Culber asked uncertainly.

"You're having a bad trip," Lorca said and wrapped his arms around the doctor to haul him back up on the couch.

For a moment, Culber held on to him and murmured, "You smell nice."

Fresh sweat and dried blood, Lorca thought, thoroughly unconvinced and disentangled himself from the doctor.

"Shit, I'm sorry, sir, that was…" Culber started pleadingly, swayed forward again, but managed to stay conscious. "… out of line."

He leaned to the side and threw up on the floor. He slipped further until his cheek rested on the edge of the couch. "That's not supposed to happen," he said in perfect confusion.

"You should probably go to bed," Lorca said.

Culber turned his head, gave him a long look and dirty grin. "I thought you'd never ask, sir."

Lorca tucked his hands into the pockets of the jumpsuit and stepped away. "I should go along with this just to watch you embarrass yourself."

Lorca wandered to the other end of the room and the lab installed there. He had never had much patience for scientific details, but as a commanding officer, he considered it his duty to have at least a basic grasp of the different experts working under him. It helped to make informed decisions and the scientists usually learned better than to try and bullshit him. Even without the obvious indicator currently passing out on the couch, Lorca would have guessed this was some sort of drug kitchen.

Irsa came back into the room, her gaze flitted between him and Culber, uncertain if she had permission to act.

Lorca turned on his heels and tried to meet her eyes, though it didn't quite work that well due to kelpien physiology.

"Does that happen often?" Lorca asked, aiming his chin at the doctor.

"Sometimes," the kelpien replied, voice so quiet he barely heard it.

"You know how to take care of him?"

The kelpien nodded, bowed her head and made to turn away. Lorca watched her as the kelpien went to the couch, gently gathered the doctor in her arms and lifted him up with no apparent effort.

"Irsa?" Lorca asked and she stopped and turned back to him.

"Can you come back when you're done? I have some questions."

"Of course," she nodded and carried the doctor from the room.

While she was busy, Lorca made his way to the wall at the back of the lab, where he'd spotted a desk and computer terminal. Surprisingly tidily kept, there was a stack of powered-down PADDs that required a voice print and command to unlock. The computer terminal itself was turned on, displaying a logo which he assumed belonged to the local research institute. He trailed his hands over the keyboard, expecting it to require a similar passcode, but the display lit up with no issue. Without taking his gaze off the screen, he reached behind him and pulled a chair close to sit down.

Landry's message was still open, the decoding programme still running. Lorca looked it over, but couldn't determine the nature of the algorithm. The message was short and somewhat lacking in detail.

_Under attack. Sending him down. Keep contained and alive. Contact you when clear. Cmdr. L._

He supposed this wasn't quite the unexpected scenario he had imagined. Maybe there _had_ been contingencies in place, or at least some kind of plan to evacuate to Tarsus IV in case the station was compromised. Only a small military complement couldn't keep all of the often difficult terrain under observation. Lorca knew well enough how difficult it could be track someone on Tarsus. The rock composition underneath the forests caused sensor interference and meant search parties had to go at it the old-fashioned way.

The information network was not very different than to what he was used to, but terran society didn't really believe in information sharing. He ran a few basic searches to get a baseline for what he was in for. Terran laws and customs, historical events, first contact protocols — or whatever they called it here. The terrans actually liked making contact with civilisations that were on the brink of warp-technology. They were easier to subdue, but not so backward they couldn't be used as slaves or an endless supply of foot-soldiers and cannon fodder.

He ran a search on his own name, not sure if he expected to be swamped with information or whether the Gabriel Lorca of this universe was a dark and well-kept secret. In the event, it was a bit of both. There was information on the emperor's court, though it had the look of propaganda and couldn't be taken at face value. Whatever rank and title Gabriel Lorca had held before had been purged from the record. He had been close to the faceless emperor, fallen out of favour after a failed coup and dragged the Empire into an ongoing cold war between various clusters of loyalists to Lorca, the emperor and quite a few other groups hoping to take advantage in the occasional flare-ups of combat.

It was nothing Lorca couldn't have made an educated guess about, just from what he had heard and what the terrans had inadvertently revealed when they had attacked his ship.

Irsa came back into the room and bowed to him.

He'd be lying if he pretended he disliked the level of respect a captain received. He'd earned it and he'd damn well have it, for the better of everyone involved. But the kelpien's mindless submission grated on his nerves.

He stared at her for a long time, realised he was glowering and making her nervous. Her shoulders twitched a little, but no threat ganglia were showing.

"You've asked to see me," she said when he continued to just stare at her.

"Are there weapons in the house?"

A tremble went through her body as she was caught by her own submission. Loyalty to her owner dictated she mustn't reveal anything sensitive, but her upbringing forced her to follow a command whenever it was given.

A pang of guilt closed Lorca's throat down, he was exploiting her no different than any other terran would, after all. He couldn't think of another way, though, only that he would need to make amends when he got the chance to.

"Dr. Culber has a weapons' locker in his bedroom," she finally replied.

"You can't get to it?"

She shook her head fervently. "Of course not!"

"Well," Lorca said with a slight grimace. "Better preserve these charges then."

In his moment of introspection, Irsa's attention wandered over to the couch, fixed on something there that caused her to fidget.

"What security measures does the house have?"

She brought her head back around to him. "Motion sensors and the walls and windows have protective coating."

He nodded along, his thoughts already several steps ahead. He tilted his head at the kelpien and gave her an assuring smile. For some reason, this seemed to make her more nervous.

"If I wanted a ship, where would I find one?"

She blinked at him, her head swaying from side to side. "I don't know."

All right, too direct, Lorca conceded. "Tell you what," he said. "You clean up that vomit, then you make us a coffee and we'll sit down and talk. How's that sound?"

She seemed confused by what he said, but finally seemed to concentrate on the parts that made sense to her. She said, "I'll get to it," as she scurried from the room to return a moment later with cleaning supplies.

Putting her from his mind, Lorca turned his attention back to the computer.

He found nothing on parallel universes that went beyond mere theory, nothing his own universe wouldn't have and absolutely no indication the terrans had a technology that allowed them to jump from one to the other at will. He found nothing on the ISS Buran's experimental drive, either. The Buran had been commissioned the same year as in his universe, but while his ship had been equipped for short and medium term exploration as well as a frontline battleship, the ISS Buran had never been meant for anything but combat and had served as flagship at quite a number of battles.

Movement caught his eye and he looked up as Irsa returned with a cup of coffee on a small tray.

"I don't drink coffee," she said. "Do you need anything…?"

"Black is fine."

He took the cup and inhaled the fragrant steam, surprised at how heartbreaking it was, just to be reminded of the last time he'd had coffee and all the things that had changed since then. What he had lost, simply because he'd failed.

He forced himself to take a sip, thick and bitter and revitalising. He stood up from the chair and stepped aside.

"Will you at least sit with me?" he asked, making a gesture towards the chair. As expected, Irsa didn't seem to quite understand what to do with the question. She stared at the chair as if she had never seen one.

"I'm not terran," Lorca said. She lifted her head to look at him.

"I don't understand."

"Where I'm from, we don't allow slavery," Lorca said. "You're a warp-capable species. You've reached the stars, you've earned a place equal to everyone else."

Irsa watched him, immobile eyes and alien features he could not quite read.

"That is strange," Irsa said finally. "Forgive me if I ask, but how do you keep order?"

"Order?"

"If everyone is equal, who decides? How does everyone know where they belong?"

"They belong where they want to be, they choose who to follow."

Like some terrans had chosen to follow a man named Gabriel Lorca into another universe, but Lorca didn't feel like it would get his point across.

"It sounds very chaotic," Irsa said, blinked a few times rapidly and shuddered slightly. "I could not live in a place like that."

Lorca frowned at her. "It's better than slavery," he said, unsure why the statement even needed to be made.

"It's unsafe," she said. Something flitted across her face and she shivered away from him. "Please forgive me, sir, I was too forward." She bowed her head. "Of course your world is not mine to criticise. I will do as you say."

She stepped forward and sat down stiffly. "What did you want to talk about?"

Giving an inward sigh, Lorca wrapped his hands around the coffee cup and found a spot furthest from Irsa to lean his back against the desk.

"This is an agricultural colony, right? Tarsus IV has very fertile soil, so that's mostly crops and the like. How is that shipped off-world?"

"Bulk transporters come and go all the time, it's all automated. I don't know much about that."

"Is there a spaceport? Space-dock in orbit?"

"No, nothing like that," she seemed to sense his growing frustration at her answers. "People here don't travel a lot off-world. The Imperial base has a gunship for atmospheric and orbital flight, but we are not on the routes of passenger lines."

"What about the Imperial ships?" he asked. "How much through traffic is there?"

"I don't know," she said, voice growing thinner. He suspected the Imperial fleet mostly ignored this region of space or Gabriel Lorca's loyalists wouldn't have hidden away out here; dug into their rock, they could have been invisible from everyone not specifically looking in the right place. Though, even if Imperial ships regularly passed through the system, Irsa was unlikely to know — or care — about them. For a moment, he considered waking up Culber to get these answers, especially while he wasn't thinking clearly, but that also made the answers he _did_ get unreliable. He'd have to wait and see what he could pry from him tomorrow.

"I'm sorry," Irsa said meekly, her discomfort obvious. If she could have, she'd have vanished on the spot.

"It's not your fault," Lorca said and got up, Irsa took it as a sign she was allowed to get up, too.

"I shouldn't have asked," he added. "It's late… well, early… you should get some sleep, too."

"Do you want me to show you your room?" she asked.

"I'm sure I can find it, sleep tight."

She bent her head again and left the room so fast, he could even tell her to stop that damn bowing.

* * *

Hugh Culber woke with a throbbing head, an ache in his eyes that told him he'd been looking at too many bright lights last night and the realisation that he should probably destroy that batch before it gave him a bad reputation. Drugs were a hobby of his, albeit a useful and entertaining one. Even if there were some interesting similarities between chemical warfare and recreational drugs. The genetic tailoring they had been working on at the institute was opening up wholly new possibilities. 

He hauled himself out of bed, stretched a little limberness back into his limbs and wandered into the hallway and the living room. It was empty and perfectly tidy, he looked towards his computer terminal with a frown without quite realising the reason.

He heard faint sounds from the kitchen and walked to the open doorway that connected the living room and kitchen. He stopped there, realising he had a completely different sort of headache to deal with now.

Landry's most important prisoner stood by the window with a cup in hand, gazing out. He'd replicated himself fresh clothes and by the look of his faintly damp hair, he'd found the shower and not been shy about making himself at home. He'd shoved a sidearm into the back of his trousers, not unlike any terran soldier who was feeling casual.

Off to the side, Irsa noticed him and busied herself with preparing his breakfast without needing prompting.

Memories of last night were a little blurry, Culber was sorry to notice.

"Have I already told you you need to stay inside?" he asked.

This Lorca might be slightly scrawnier, but that was the biggest difference Culber could determine as the man turned his head slightly and regarded him.

"Good morning," he said with a curious lack of inflection and an entirely too pleasant, low rasp in his voice.

Culber rubbed his temple. "Yeah, good morning, I guess. So… you need to stay inside and…"

"Keep my head down, not even look at the garden," Lorca sounded like he was reciting Culber's words back at him, so the doctor decided to assume he'd been present enough to deliver them. Lorca smiled a little as he continued to look at the garden.

"Good, good," Culber said. "Are you going to make this difficult?"

Lorca arched a brow. "You mean, do I want to be picked up and tortured for years by the Imperial Army just because I happen to look like their favourite enemy? Not really, no."

With a sigh of relief, which Culber realised he probably should've not shown, he slipped into a chair by the table just in time for Irsa to set down his plate for him. He decided to blame his comedown for the lapse.

"You know what I'm wondering?" Lorca said suddenly and Culber hesitated with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth, glancing past it at the man still by the window. Culber didn't like the tone. It seemed neutral, but hid something vicious and teasing underneath. The tone Lorca had when he knew more than everybody else around him and wanted to enjoy the last few moments before he let them feel it.

Culber shoved the fork into his mouth, chewed down and made a noncommittal grunt. He'd briefly spoken with Landry and she'd been evasive about this Lorca's personality. He hadn't paid it much attention back then. Just because someone looked the same didn't mean they shared any other traits. His mentor at the University of Pax Martia had been running experiments on twins to determine just this — or the opposite, wherever the research would take him. He had since expanded to run a comparison between natural twins and lab-grown clones.

Lorca took a sip of his coffee and turned his head back to gaze out the window.

"The ISS Buran has a drive that allows her to jump to another universe in an instant, yet, when she received an emergency call from your base…" he pursed his lips as if in thought. "She takes a long time to get here."

His voice dropped to a deceptive croon. "Why is that?"

"How should I know?" Culber asked. "Maybe it's broken again."

Lorca brought his head around to stare at him, making Culber hyper-aware of each tiny gesture and he found it momentarily difficult to remember how to eat scrambled eggs without doing something awkward. He considered dropping the fork and having a sip of orange juice, but the thought of spilling it all in front of the captain… _not_ the captain… made it unappealing.

"You know about the drive?"

"I know _about_ the drive, yes," Culber said. "I don't know how it works. I've never even been on the ship."

Lorca made a low sound and Culber suffered a moment of icy anxiety at how much he felt like the disappointment was his fault. No wonder Landry had wanted this guy off her station.

"Are you done interrogating me?" Culber demanded, summoning anger based mostly on the headache. He'd need to remember to get a shot in before heading to work, losing his head in this company was bad enough, it could be fatal outside. "I need to finish breakfast and get to work, I'm overseeing human trials and the schedule is tight."

Lorca passed another glance over him. "I'm just naturally curious," he said.

"You're looking for an angle," Culber said. "A way to play me. How stupid do you think I am? Can't even blame you, who wants to be a prisoner, right? Thing is, you _are._ Better remember that."

As expected, the show of resistance got Lorca to turn around and drop his gaze heavily on Culber, though still keeping his expression carefully neutral while his eyebrows wandered upward into mild skepticism.

"I'm not likely to forget," he assured him and Culber wasn't sure if there was a threat in the words or if his imagination was just overreacting.

Lorca said, "So, if something happens to you, who do I turn to? Landry said you have other people."

Culber put the spoon down and reached for the orange juice, giving Lorca a glare just to make a point while he drank and played for time.

"Nothing's gonna happen."

"Really? You sure you haven't got an assistant looking for a quick promotion?"

"That's not how it works in the sciences. All she'll do is steal my research or… make me look like I stole somebody else's. It won't stop me coming home."

"Except for the rival, of course, who you stole from, or made to look like you did. _They_ are allowed to execute you."

Culber glowered. "You've been reading."

"Most of the night," Lorca said with a slight smile. He made a gesture with one hand. "I'm not going anywhere, so I expect to do a lot more reading."

"Not on my computer," Culber said instantly. "You got me on the back-foot last night. Don't get used to it. Landry said to 'contain' you and that's what's going to happen."

The smile on Lorca's face turned into a smirk. "Those handcuffs are still on offer, then?"

Culber tried to recall that part of the conversation, came up empty and fervently hoped it wasn't quite as indecent as Lorca's expression made it seem. At least he seemed to be taking it with good humour, but with Captain Lorca, you could never really tell with any measure of certainty, either.

He refused to be cowed by this wannabe and bared his teeth. "If that's what it takes."

He met the other man's gaze as steadily as he could but was sure he gave no outward sign of any insecurity. Better to finish the conversation while he was ahead, then.

He shovelled the rest of the egg into his mouth, then emptied the juice and sucked on the cup of tea he had been looking past in his distraction.

"I need to get going," he said.

"You need to give me an alternative," Lorca insisted.

Dog with a bone, Culber thought with wry frustration and stopped halfway to the door. The man had a point, though, although Culber would've very much preferred it if Lorca hadn't been so very much aware of it. Lorca didn't want to know these things for any of the reasons he was giving him, logical as they might be. He wanted them as weapons in his arsenal to turn on them the first chance he got. Still, it made it hard to refuse him outright.

"Well, in the unlikely event that something _does_ happen, which won't, but fine…" Culber said. "Irsa can get you in touch with Adrian Kodos, he's a clerk at the colonial administration. Reliable man, but not much of a risk-taker. I'd rather not spread the word about you being here at all, so keep it down until I'm confirmed dead."

Lorca had gone still, gaze narrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I ran a search on him," Lorca said, seeming to unclench his teeth with some effort.

Culber wasn't sure what to make of that remark and said, "He's not to so important. He just became a council-member's personal aid, but that's just another type of clerk. No need for his profile to be public."

He crossed his arms over his chest, reacting to the other man's sudden hostility.

"Do you have any other pressing questions?" Culber asked, not hiding his own anger.

Lorca shook his head, found something to glower at somewhere in mid-air between them and Culber turned away to leave. He got all the way through the doorway before Lorca's slightly raised voice made him stop.

"You got any gym equipment? A holo-projector? Or is that not allowed, either?"

Culber was tempted to just let the man fester in his own boredom for a day or so, but while the thought had its allure, reasonably it was much better to give Lorca something to occupy himself with. The question just was which pastime would cause fewer issues down the line.

Sighing inwardly, Culber said, "Irsa can set you up."

The man looked willing to take on a klingon either way, so making sure he was able to hit slightly less hard probably wouldn't have been worth the effort anyway.

Lorca's deep voice followed him, distant now that he was walking away, but still somehow able to make the air shiver between them.

"Thank you," he said and Culber couldn't really tell if he was expressing any kind of genuine gratitude or simply mocking him.

* * *

The New Anchorage Military Forces Security Station close to the city centre, within spitting distance of both, colonial offices and the research institute. It had been built for up to a hundred soldiers, but mostly housed automated systems now, leaving dorm rooms and recreation area to fall into disuse. It sprawled over a large chunk of land, the barracks themselves, the central building where offices and sensor controls were housed and the hangar with the gunship and other vehicles were stored. 

Lined up and standing to attention, the nineteen soldiers seemed like a sorry display. The posting on Tarsus IV wasn't exactly good for anyone's career. With Commander Ash Tyler being the highest-ranking officer on the planet, there was little hope for advancing much further unless a new crisis came over them and shook things up again. There were enough rebels in the galaxy to serve, but Tyler couldn't quite fault them if they preferred to wreak their havoc elsewhere.

It had been four months since his second in command had made an attempt at his life. He was still to select a new second in command and had watched with some glee as his subordinates jockeyed and backstabbed and schemed for the position. He wouldn't be able to prolong it indefinitely, but he hadn't quite decided yet.

His personal favourite was a young lieutenant. His parents had been resettled on Tarsus after the famine had depleted the workforce, he'd had enough ambition to join up, but not enough to leave his dreary home planet behind. Thomas Leighton was thoughtful and quiet, kept his opinions to himself but never seemed to miss anything.

His only liability was his friendship with cadet Moreau. Even now, they stood side by side. Moreau was a troublemaker and Tyler suspected she would either go far or die young. He'd considered taking her out of the game himself, just to arrange his unit in the way he saw fit. However, her youthful beauty and devious mind had its uses, too.

At Tyler's command, his people and they straightened even more, arms already outstretched in salute when Captain Maddox, his bodyguard and a complement of armed officers beamed down.

Maddox returned the salute with impatient precision.

Tyler carefully inclined his head, finding a balance between deference and confidence. Though Maddox gave no indication, Tyler knew a man of his rank and reputation wouldn't miss even the faintest gesture.

"Welcome to Tarsus IV, sir," Tyler said. "My people and I are at your disposal."

Maddox looked over the line of soldiers, his attention lingering on Moreau for just a second too long. Tyler made a silent note of this.

Maddox nodded, acknowledging Tyler's pledge and assessing how far it would hold. Tyler had no interest in getting on Maddox's bad side and the emperor's along with it, but Maddox didn't need to know that.

"We have much to discuss," Maddox said.

Tyler dismissed his soldiers and invited Maddox to join him in his office. As the soldiers relaxed slightly, but knew better than to break away from their place before Maddox and Tyler had cleared the area, Tyler looked over and snapped, "Moreau, with us, you can bring us something to drink while we talk."

"Yes, sir!"

She saluted quickly and fell into step behind them, giving a triumphant grin at Leighton back over her shoulder, looking as if her plan had come together perfectly.

* * *

"Loyalists of the traitor Lorca were camping out right at your doorstep," Maddox said not much later, sitting in Tyler's office as if he owned it, with just his bodyguard pinned to his side and the rest of his officers already taking over the base. 

"They have been using an asteroid on the outer edges of the system as a main base of operations, from what we could determine, they have begun building it even before the traitor attempted his first coup."

Moreau had dutifully served them fresh coffee when both Maddox and Tyler had declined anything alcoholic. She had taken the liberty of serving herself a glass of whiskey and lingered now at the back of the room with the glass cradled against her chest and occasionally taking a sip. Tyler would have sent her away, but the effect her presence had on Maddox was too interesting not to observe.

"I knew nothing," Tyler said. "If I had, you can be sure, I'd have reported it immediately."

Maddox said nothing, glanced towards the window, then back at Tyler. "You don't have the firepower to take them on, but we're currently taking care of it. We expect to take over the base in a few hours. We've already taken a number of prisoners, some of them known to be very close to the traitor. The base need not concern you."

The base, and the fame and glory of taking it need not concern you, Tyler corrected in his mind. Much as he disliked it, Maddox was right. Their gunship was capable of travelling that far out, but it didn't pack the kind of punch they would need once they got there, especially if it was a main base. Lorca was known to be many things, but an easy opponent he was not.

"What concerns you," Maddox said. "Is that we have reports of the traitor himself having been on the station. My people have spotted him several times during the fighting, but he's vanished hours ago. We managed to intercept a shuttle returning to the base and analysing its travel log, it passed by Tarsus and has beamed down one person outside of New Anchorage last night."

"You think he's here," Tyler said and made sure he didn't sound incredulous while a million possibilities bloomed into bright, glittering existence inside his mind. A way of this forsaken dirt lump of a planet and back to the stars. He'd been waiting for something like this for far too long and it had been right there all along. Now, all he needed to do was seize opportunity and ride it.

Maddox allowed himself a disdainful smile. "It seems he has lost his taste for fighting, or maybe he's just getting tired of constant failure and looking to become a farmer. I think he's hiding out in the city."

Maddox was interrupted by the beep of his communicator, he pulled it out and flipped it open.

"Maddox," he said.

_"Sir, the Buran is here, we are ready to engage."_

Maddox was on his feet before the announcement was even finished.

"I'm leaving my officers with you, they will bring you up to speed and bolster your ranks. I understand this is your planet, so operative control is in your hands, commander. I will return as soon as we've dealt with the traitor's flagship."

"Understood, sir," Tyler said.

He saluted as Maddox turned away and stepped outside to give his officers orders. Tyler got up and followed him to the door and Moreau finished her drink and began to join them, not waiting for an invitation this time.

Maddox noticed her and said to Tyler, "Your cadet reminds me of my sister. Take good care of her."

"Of course, sir," Tyler said without missing a beat, but the moment Maddox's attention was on his officers, Tyler caught himself frowning, content when he found that the remark confused Moreau just as much as him. Did Maddox mean 'take good care of her, I'll pick her up later'? Was Tyler supposed to take her out of the line of fire? Something he couldn't easily do, understaffed as his command was.

"Oh, and commander?" Maddox had turned back one last time. "If you find Lorca, your orders are to not approach him. Just find him, he's mine and mine alone. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Tyler said and saluted sharply. "Long live the Empire!"

"Long live the Empire!" Maddox responded and the transporter beam picked him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** No, I'm not sorry for the fine piece of ass comment. I haven't had a hot protagonist in years, let me have my fun.
> 
> **Note:** Pax Martia is the mirror equivalent of Utopia Planitia, worked out with a total lack of any Latin skill whatsoever. Inspired by "Pax Romana" it's supposed to mean "Martian Peace". I think it's suitably aggressive.
> 
> **Also Note:** I loathe using OCs when there are canon characters to fill the role. This being Star Trek, there's an army of canon characters to choose from, but I didn't want to use anyone too famous.
> 
> _Thomas Leighton_ is an acquaintance/friend of Kirk's who, in the prime universe, was present at the Tarsus IV massacre.
> 
> _Marlena Moreau_ appears in the TOS episode "Mirror, Mirror" as a wonderfully scheming captain's woman.
> 
> That being said, finding them and fitting them into the story was a bitch, so I won't be doing that for all OCs.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 18/Nov/2018_


	3. Difficult Positions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning/Reminder:** The mirror universe is a very bad place. And there is (a little bit of) sex, drug use and violence (in that order).
> 
> **Author's Note:** Coming back to what I've said in the first chapter, I'm happy to announce that I've got something like a plot. It's going to be the most epic thing I've ever written, if I can pull it off. If not, well, at least the disappointment will be big, sort of like canon.

Staring at the bed in the guest room, Lorca's resolve crumbled. The bed, as well as the room, was large and clean, dark sheets gleaming like genuine silk, smoothed out flawlessly by Culber's kelpien slave. It was foolish to let his guard down in enemy territory, he'd resolved to not rest until he had an idea of where he was at and what to do about it, but something as commonplace as a bed completely ripped his resolution to shreds.

The fresh food and real coffee had been bad enough, never mind that he'd had his first shower with actual water in months. In the cell, they got sprayed every other week by ultrasonic blasts and some sort of badly-smelling disinfectant. It did maintain a level of hygiene, but nothing else.

Stepping into the guest room, he asked himself what difference it would make. He'd been sleeping in enemy territory for months, though on a cot barely his own size inside a cell not much bigger. He'd been lulled to sleep by the filtered, but still very much audible wailing from the agony booth. He'd woken to some other prisoner being dragged out of his cell to be shot and left there for several days in plain view. There was no good excuse to be timid over some inviting bedsheets. 

Culber had locked him inside the house, the doors and windows locked and the computer completely unresponsive to any of his commands. He got it to briefly respond when he told it to re-enable his access and identify him by voice print. For a moment, he thought he had something, but then the computer simply announced its failure. It was the only time he got anything at all from it.

He suspected a concentrated blast from his sidearm would tear a hole somewhere, but he was loathe to consider wasting his charges, especially because he had a much simpler option.

Irsa had avoided him throughout the day, smarter than he had given her credit for after their first conversation. She knew, or at least suspected, that he might try to pressure her into doing something she wasn't supposed to. Culber had been too flustered this morning to properly brief her, which put her untrained decision-making skills entirely at Lorca's mercy.

Lorca sighed to himself, gave the darkened window pane a long look. It filtered the sunlight to what would be comfortable to terrans and was a soothing gloom to him. He hadn't slept at all the night before, preferring to make use of the computer access while he had it, giving himself at least the illusion of a head-start. Now that was gone and all he had was to decide between the bed and the well-equipped gym room in the house's basement.

_Later,_ he decided. He needed to keep himself functional.

He slipped the shirt off and slipped a hand over the sheets, feeling no friction at all. His eyes fluttered closed for just a second and he pulled himself together again. He stood for a moment, feeling an unwelcome flash of dread closed down his throat at the unexpected prospect of real sleep and whatever nightmares his mind could conjure if given free rein.

He pulled the sidearm from his trousers and checked the charges, unnecessarily. He took the sidearm with him, carefully tucking it away under the pillow before he crawled between the sheets, the mattress fit itself to his body and he was asleep almost instantly.

* * *

The moaning was loud in the mostly unoccupied barracks, filling the empty spaces. Stalking the noise quietly, Tyler's distaste for the sorry state of his command dropped his mood even more than it already was since the arrival of Maddox. 

Maddox had let him off far too easily. Lorca's loyalists had been able to built and maintain a starbase right under his nose and judging by how large it was, it was likely to have been a major hub of operations for a good long while. Yet, Maddox had made no threats, however veiled, had not questioned Tyler's own loyalty, had not insinuated incompetence at the very least, nothing. Just a hand-wave at the difficult situation, because Tyler objectively had not had the capability to spot the base this far out.

Tyler found the row of rooms currently occupied. The sliding door's sensor had been unreliable for some time, so he pushed it open himself to the sight he had expected.

Cadet Moreau was enjoying herself on top of Lieutenant Leighton, who was no more vocal during sex than he was in other parts of his life. The frantic way they traced their hands over each other, the harsh, accelerating breathing and the slight tremor in Moreau's bare thighs betrayed how close at least she was.

Tyler leaned his shoulder into the doorway, waiting for them to notice him.

It was possible Maddox really didn't have the capacity to care, some persistent rumour went around about how he had some personal reason to be after Lorca. Personally, Tyler suspected it had more to do with securing his position. Although nominally Lorca's successor, Maddox didn't have the same widespread influence and reputation Lorca had enjoyed. Maddox didn't have the emperor's ear — or anything else, for that matter. Bringing the traitor to heel would be a major feather in his cap, making his position that much more secure.

Shaking, Moreau folded herself over her partner, gave him a sloppy kiss while he continued to buck under her. She reached up for something on the bed. Tyler traced the line of her finger to a small, flat bowl. It looked to contain small pins. She picked one up and gently pressed the tiny needle into Leighton's neck. Immediately, it wrenched a howl of absolute pleasure from him with a full body spasm that had him capable of nothing more than cling to Moreau while it lasted.

Tyler arched his brows in mild curiosity. That drug doctor had some interesting things on offer, it seemed.

However, Tyler didn't like how his favourite candidate for a command position seemed so easily overwhelmed by just a cadet. He was clearly far too willing to hand over control to her. Tyler wouldn't particularly mind if it was just a bedroom game, but he'd observed Leighton do it in many other aspects of his life, too. Would it be particularly scandalous to promote a cadet all the way up to second in command? Tyler doubted the brass would care what he did down here, but right now, he was under somewhat close scrutiny.

The best explanation for Maddox's odd behaviour was that he was setting up Tyler. If they caught Lorca and brought him back to the emperor a broken man, then Maddox would bask in the glory of it. If it was a failure, then Tyler was a convenient scapegoat who could be framed as a collaborator and traitor without much effort.

The couple finally rocked to a close and an errand glance by Moreau landed on Tyler. She stilled immediately and Leighton turned his head in the commander's direction, blinked away the daze to make way for shock.

With fake mildness, Tyler said, "Is there no need to stand to attention?"

The two of them detached from each other and scrambled to their feet untidily, half-dressed and dishevelled after their twist.

"All three of you," Tyler added sardonically with a pointed look down Leighton's body.

To his credit, Leighton made no attempt to cover himself and didn't even blush at his own sorry state. It was the lingering smirk on Moreau's pretty face that Tyler found aggravating.

"We're in the middle of a manhunt," Tyler snapped. "But you somehow have time to indulge yourselves. Do you know what time we don't have? For me to properly discipline you. So I'm going to make this short."

He turned a hard gaze to Leighton.

"Lieutenant, I want you to strike the cadet."

Leighton opened his mouth and Tyler already heard the pathetic objection in his mind. Leighton didn't realise the favour Tyler was doing him by driving a wedge between him and Moreau.

Tyler just looked back at Leighton steadily and the man had enough sense to realise that an order had been given and he better follow it.

Leighton turned towards Moreau, hesitated for a second as their eyes met, but then drove his fist into her stomach, she doubled over and shifted back into a defensive stand.

"Cadet Moreau, I didn't say you could fight back," Tyler said and nodded at Leighton. "Again."

By the time Tyler called it quits, Moreau's stomach was starting to show the bruises, a few hits and slaps to her face had caused swelling around her cheekbone and her lip had split.

She had borne it stoically, but Tyler hadn't missed the fire in her gaze as she tried to straighten back to attention.

Tyler said, "We've tracked a suspicious network access to a node into the residential area of the city centre. We're calling a lockdown and detaining the residents. Lieutenant Leighton, you're to command the gunship. Go."

Leighton gave Moreau a quick look, but remembered his place and saluted stiffly, snapped a clipped "yes, sir!", gathered his strewn clothes and left the room hurriedly.

Tyler looked over Moreau, "Cadet, get yourself cleaned up, stat. You're with me today."

* * *

Despite its remote location, the research institute of New Anchorage had some of the best equipment available. After the famine and the subsequent unrest, much of the cities on the planet had to be rebuilt and it stood to reason to do so with the newest technology available. Far away from the smouldering cauldrons of the Empire, scientists on Tarsus IV were under less strict oversight from Imperial institutions, allowing for a much more relaxed atmosphere. Some schemes were always brewing away somewhere underneath, but it rarely went beyond petty theft, demotions and black eyes. Two interns had decided to knife each other a month ago over a coveted assistant posting, but that was the most excitement anyone's had had since. 

Culber, for his part, supplied most of the town with recreational supplements and was considered too important by everyone to do any serious harm to. His actual work was fairly dull and left him with enough mental capacity and spare time to pursue his hobby.

Nevertheless, he wasn't having a very good day. The mere thought of his guest being out of his sight made his stomach queasy, although that could be the comedown, too. He had only been very tenuously briefed on the nature of this man and his origin. Given what Landry had said, Culber had expected him to be quite docile. Landry had said they hadn't had much trouble with him during his captivity, but Culber was beginning to suspect that either Landry had been lying about it, or the man had just been biding his time.

Culber wouldn't be especially surprised to find him gone when he came home and he wasn't entirely sure if that would be a bad thing. Landry would be angry with him, but she was currently thoroughly occupied with keeping herself out of an Imperial agony booth. The captain wanted his double alive, whether to torture him or for the re-enactment of some masturbatory fantasy, Culber didn't know. Thinking of what the captain might do was its own little version of hell, but currently, it seemed removed enough to be relegated to a nagging anxiety at the back of his mind.

The heart of the institute was a large, transparent dome inside a larger hall. The dome was capable to simulate various atmospheric conditions and compositions and was used to test the dispersal of aerosol agents. Culber's office and lab were set apart from it, inside a glass cubicle that allowed him full few of the surrounding area and similar labs all around the hall.

Assistants were currently busy cleaning out the bodies of the last test subjects while Culber reviewed their medical data as they had been gathered during testing. He didn't much like the results. Releasing of any agent in the upper layers of the atmosphere had been a problem for most interesting biological agents. The subjects did die, at this stage, but none of the data looked like it might be applicable to a planet-wide deployment.

Still staring at the data, he reached for the pastry on the plate on his desk. His fingers sunk through the sugar crust and into the delicate dough underneath.

The door behind him opened, which was nothing unusual of itself and he didn't expect anyone to backstab him out of the blue, so he was slow to react. He put the pastry back down and started to turn around. By then, the Imperial soldier was on him. He gripped the back of his neck and smashed it down into the table. Culber uttered a grunt, flailed his hands in reflex rather than any kind of coordinated defence only for a suppressant baton to be stuck into his side, releasing its charge and he howled in pain as his body twitched inelegantly from the chair.

"What the hell?" he slurred, caught between the chair and the desk and giving the two soldiers a frown.

"Don't play dumb, quackhead," the soldier said, Culber vaguely recognised the voice and didn't much like the mocking leer in it.

It didn't exactly help his case that he already had a fairly good idea of what was behind this intervention, even if the exact details were unknown to him. He suspected an interrogator would soon be going after them, anyway. It wasn't going to be fun.

The soldier reached and dragged Culber to his feet, none-too-gently, and manhandled him around to cuff his hands behind his back. He couldn't see much, but he heard the door open again and the low, tinkling of measured footsteps on high-heels.

What Culber didn't see, was as the shoes' wearer crossed the space quick enough to give the soldier no time to react. She hammered a syringe into his neck and then stepped back to watch him crumble.

Culber struggled back around, still feeling the remnant echo of the baton beating in his side to stare at his colleague.

"Dr Ferasini," he said formally. "You have excellent timing."

She pulled a grimace. The left side of her face had been burned in a lab accident and the reconstructive lattice was still visible under a thin layer of transparent, newly growing skin. The expression pulled on it and made it even more humourless and lopsided than it otherwise would've been.

"I really don't," she said as she unlocked Culber's handcuffs.

As if in agreement, all computer screens in the hall suddenly went dark, only to come back on displaying the Terran emblem and the word [Lockdown].

"Oh fuck," Culber said.

"I'm too late," she finished, unnecessarily. "Let's move while we still can."

Culber felt himself a little unsteady on his feet but decided he was going to walk it off, hurrying after her. The lockdown had thrown the institute into certain disarray, making two more scientists hurrying through its hallways inconspicuous.

"I've got a message from Marlena," Ferasini explained as they walked. "The ISS Defiant under Captain Maddox is here."

"Oh fuck," Culber said again.

"Indeed," she agreed with thin humour. "It also seems like they've got a lock on Captain Lorca, or at least on who they think is him."

If there was a ship in the Imperial fleet that could stand up to the Buran and her spore-powered weapons and drive, it was the Defiant.

"Oh…" Culber began and clamped his mouth shut before he could make things awkward.

"How the fuck did they find him so fast?"

"Marlena didn't have time for a proper report," Ferasini gave him a quick glance. "You did secure him, didn't you?"

"I locked him up," Culber said, but there must have been something in his voice that gave him away because he caught a spark of disdain in her eyes.

For many reasons, Ferasini should've been in charge of their operations on Tarsus. She was the more competent of the two, the deadlier fighter after ten years of membership in the Imperial forces. What she also had was publicity. Known to be ambitious, she only had the institute's director above her and had all the skills she needed to get off this rock any time she pleased. Culber suspected the position had gone to him because of this. Ferasini was reliable, but she was under close scrutiny and might not be staying on Tarsus for long.

"I hope you mean in the basement," she said in a tone of voice that implied she already knew better.

"In the house," Culber admitted but found some of his own anger. "Suck it up, okay. I don't have a jail in my house and couldn't know Landry would drop _that_ on me like that."

Ferasini turned to look ahead. "Well, at least we know how they've found him."

"Actually, we don't. I locked him inside the house without access to the computer or any comm devices. He has a sidearm with one full charge. That's all."

"Captain Lorca took down the Rigellian uprising like that," Ferasini said, much to Culber's chagrin.

It had been one of Lorca's earliest military triumphs in what would become a long string of brilliant victories. Now, of course, all purged from public record, with only backups stored away in the Imperial archives on the Charon, for the emperor to marvel over in private.

"Well, first, he had help on Rigel and second, we aren't talking about the captain here."

"He must have done _something,"_ Ferasini insisted.

"Look, I know you'll hate taking advice from me, but, if you're going to compare this one to our captain, he'll notice and he'll use it."

Despite their hurried walk, Ferasini took the time to gave him a long look. They had left the busy areas of the institute behind by then, avoiding the controlled entrances and any potential other forces sent to detain Culber.

"That's why you didn't shackle him up?" she asked sceptically. "Because he found your weak spot?"

She paused for a moment as they had to file through a narrow gate. "I mean," she added. "One of them?"

Culber sucked in his breath sharply at her tone.

"I'm sure you'd have done so much better," he said. "That _must_ be the reason you're in charge of Tarsus… oh wait." He feigned surprise, then continued with a scowl. "You aren't." 

Ferasini gave him an angry look, but either she decided it was useless arguing or — Culber barely dared to finish the thought — she realised he had a point. Most likely, though it was because they reached the garage where various vehicles were parked.

Ferasini stopped at a wall console, overrode the lockdown for one of the gates and the computer automatically drove an overland buggy towards them.

"I'd go for manual control," Culber said. The colonial administration, as well as the security forces, could take control over any vehicle at any time.

"I'll drive," Ferasini said, but her tone had slightly changed after his brief admonishment. He thought there might even be a question in there somewhere.

"Yeah, I'll call the house," he agreed and swung himself on the front passenger seat. "And we'll need Kodos' override privileges to get out of the city."

In the time it took Ferasini to walk around the vehicle, he had already opened the small console in front of his seat and quickly installed the encoding programme they used for their communication. It was permanently stored in a ghost-cloud account for just this sort of emergency.

The garage door snapped open with a hiss and Ferasini pushed the accelerator.

* * *

Terran training mannequins didn't much differ from those used in Lorca's own universe. Some general setting, same responsive movements with a surface able to emulate any kind of armour, clothes or skin plating. Lorca had suspected any attempt to power himself down against one of these wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as he would have preferred. Briefly, he longed for his younger self, who had found extended training would empty his mind. After nearly a decade of command experience, most of it in the captain's chair, his mind would never entirely shut down. A part of his consciousness would always parse additional information, map his movements, his opponents' capabilities, the next few steps he needed to take to get where he wanted. Nevertheless, there was something gratifying about the hard resistance hitting his knuckles, travelling up the bones of his arms. The slowly spreading heat in his limbs with each blow, the way his heart-rate and breathing spiked at first at the newly unusual exertion but eventually began to level out as they should do. 

What the terran mannequin lacked was a clear indicator of whether his blows were inflicting any damage and no tally for him to track. He found himself missing it at first, until he realised a life opponent wouldn't beep, either, but physically respond, bent and buckle and slow down, even to a standstill to mark a kill.

It had been only mildly surprising to find the doctor had a fairly sweet setup in his basement, complete with a holo-projection option, padded floors and walls as well as a multi-functional gym machine, able to assemble itself into anything at the push of a button.

Part of him told him he should be doing the smart thing and set up a proper training regime to get himself back in shape, but the moment he had seen the mannequin, it had been far too alluring. It was, he supposed, a little odd in a way. He expected to be facing off against any number of human opponents soon enough, yet here he was, wasting his frustration on a dummy.

A punch for every crew-member of the Buran, for Mirak and Pentawer and Miranda Bell, his chief engineer who he had never even spoken to that night. His last words with her something so trivial he couldn't even recall them now. Two punches for Basora saving his life even while dying. Lieutenants Mah and Renaud, such perfect complements of each other and of him, going down in the chaos.

His arms and shoulders hurt, the wraps were soaked through with sweat, beginning to chafe just slightly, but the minor discomfort only added to the ferocity.

He kicked the mannequin in the stomach hard, twisted back around into a crouch to avoid any possible retaliation from such a sweeping move. Instead, the mannequin doubled over, quivered and went still, its colour changing to blood-red to indicate a kill. Ensign Narang, dead in his arms.

He flexed his fingers and stepped back, shook out his hands and considered going another round.

As he stepped back from the mannequin, considering his options and waiting for the sharp edge of exhaustion to retreat from his limbs just a little, he caught movement from the doorway leading upstairs. Irsa was clutching her fingers in front of her, gaze flitting this way and that, avoiding his gaze while simultaneously seeking it out, looking for a way to interrupt him without offending.

"What's up?" he asked.

"You need to come."

"On my way."

He began unfurling the hand wraps as he followed Irsa upstairs and into the living room, where the computer was finally on, projecting Culber's worried face into the air. The screen of the computer itself proclaimed a lockdown.

"What's going on?" Lorca asked.

_"You moron did something stupid and now they know where you are,"_ Culber snapped.

Lorca arched his brows, flicked his gaze at the lockdown notice.

"What happened?" he asked, even though he already had a good idea and a bad feeling about it.

_"What did I just say?"_ Culber snarled. _"They know where you are. You…"_

He turned his head and looked at something or someone else, his expression becoming even more agitated as he bared his teeth like an angry dog.

Culber brought his head back around and stared at Lorca.

_"We're still ahead of them…"_ Culber said after a moment of silence in which he had regained some of his composure. The call picked up a second person's voice and Culber glanced to the side again, nodding at someone.

_"We'll be there in two minutes,"_ a woman said. The hologram continued to display Culber's scowl, but the woman's smoky voice turned Lorca's spine to ice, ready to melt or shatter at any moment.

_"You better be ready,"_ Culber added, nodded again and switched the connection off.

Lorca rocked back in the chair, staring a hole into the empty space where Culber had been a moment ago. In two minutes he could be ready for a fight, though he was likely to lose it. Two minutes were more than enough to survey the house and get Irsa to part with some essential information. If two minutes was the absolutes of his advance warning, he could make it work.

But he was never going to be prepared to meet that woman in two minutes. If he had two years it wouldn't be enough.

Irsa hovered uncertainly behind his shoulder, pinned there by her own curiosity, Lorca guessed. A snarl crawled into his mouth, wanting to get rid of her and her abject scrutiny. It'd be too easy to shoo her away with a caustic remark, no doubt she was used to it and expected to be shown her boundaries in that way. Perhaps she would even prefer him to treat her like that because her world made more sense that way.

He turned his head towards her and said, "Can you fight?"

"No!"

"But you're strong," he insisted. "Much stronger than a human."

She fidgeted and looked down at the hands clutched in front of her, embarrassed by the assertion. She didn't answer and flinched a step back when Lorca got to his feet and walked past her. He stopped again to look at her.

"Stick with me," he told her. "Do what I tell you."

Whatever misgivings she had about his budding plans, she nodded and followed him as he made a quick tour through the house in the two minutes he'd been allotted, looking for any obvious weapons he might have missed, but mostly to familiarise himself with the layout in case this was where he would have to make his stand.

Due to the lockdown, the streets outside were deserted, the window panes of the neighbouring houses only reflecting back the emptiness. If anyone was watching, they were well hidden. Lorca didn't like the prospect of going outside. The Imperial complement had a gunship, which was more than capable of maintaining control of a section of the neighbourhood and with nothing else moving, they would be easy targets.

He caught sight of the buggy as it careened around a corner and stopped in front of the house. He snatched up the jacket he had replicated for himself earlier in the morning, managed to catch and hold Irsa's gaze for a moment. It made sure she kept following him outside without argument.

* * *

"Are we really taking the crippled kelpien?" the woman said as Lorca climbed into the backseat and scooted over to make room for Irsa. 

Lorca stared past her, at the side of Culber's face he could see, who'd craned his neck to watch them get into the car.

Lorca said, "Are we really going to pass up someone able to punch a hole in the wall?"

The woman huffed and Culber sniggered to himself.

"He has a point," the doctor said. "She's useful. Let's go, what are you waiting for?"

The woman didn't argue as she hit the accelerator and the buggy slid along the well-kept, empty street smoothly.

The roof of the buggy was transparent, filtering the glare of the sunlight, but without obstructing the view of the sky. Lorca scanned it for the gunship, but everything still seemed deceptively peaceful.

"Are you going to give me a rundown?" Lorca asked after several minutes of silence.

"I really want to know what you did," the woman said.

"Messed with the computer," Culber said. "I bet."

At his words, Lorca realised he was right. It stood to reason that a draconian regime would have monitoring in place to scan for any suspicious network activity. Asking the thing to identify his voice print would have raised red flags all over the place. In the Federation, privacy laws wouldn't permit this sort of universal tracking.

Lorca dipped his head back and sucked in a hard breath. He'd forgotten where he was for just an instant and he'd tripped lose an avalanche.

"Should've used the handcuffs," Lorca said dismissively. Admitting a mistake would be weakness to these people. It was much better to let them believe his planning was two steps ahead of them. All he had to do was keep the charade going until he made it out the other side, or everything collapsed and nothing mattered anymore, whichever came first.

As they drove, Lorca spotted the gunship slowly circling above the district. It was a small, two-person saucer with weapon batteries set in rotating rings on the top and bottom of it.

"Here's the plan," Culber said. Lorca saw he had tactical display hovering in front of him, while a similar display was laying down their route for the driver. Some of her patterns looked familiar and Lorca recognised them as the sensor sweep pattern he had memorised the night before.

"She drives, I jam their targeting and you use the mounted drill."

Culber swiped through his display and a portion of the roof folded back to reveal shoulder straps and the handholds of what amounted to a laser drill, presumably to allow for precise cuts in rock-face or similar.

The woman hissed and swerved sharply around a corner, dislodging Lorca who had just started to pull himself upward. He caught hold of a strap and angled himself into the harness, stealing a quick look at the driver controls and spotting a bright alert sign. They had touched the sensors range, albeit briefly. Above them, the gunship suddenly dipped to the side.

Lorca swung the drill a few times, trying to get a sense of its responsiveness and found it slow and sluggish.

"It doesn't aim upward," he called down as the drill jarred against his attempt to aim at the gunship. A moment later, a hard impact cut open the street just beside and threw the buggy off course before the woman steadied it. The shot had taken off the side of a house, tossed crumbling debris into a cloud of dust right behind them.

The driver took them around a corner and into a narrow alley running between two long lines of garden walls. The gunship punched another hole into the ground right behind them.

Lorca wondered how long they would take to figure out that if they were targeting them manually, they needed to give a lead and aim in front of the target.

Their buggy shot out into a wide avenue, tall, slender trees planted between them. It led to the city centre and the administration offices, he recognised it — _almost —_ there had been a lovely ice cream parlour just over _that way._

Lorca brought the drill the other way to survey the city around them. It was still entirely empty to the naked eye, with the dust and debris kicked up by the shots from the gunship being the only source of movement.

They dipped back into another alley, this time the gunship dipped low in an attempt to keep them in sight, just low enough for it to appear in the drill's crosshair. Lorca fired, finding at least the trigger responsive. The drill's servos kicked into action, absorbing the rebound from the energy surge to nothing but a slight vibration in his hand. The drill's energy sliced along the side of the gunship just before it climbed out of range again.

They took several corners and Lorca lost sight of the gunship for a time. He glanced down for a glimpse of Culber's or the woman's display, just in time to see several warnings flare up in front of Culber. He heard the doctor curse, "shit, chariots," and focussed on his surrounding.

The points of alarm on Culber's display manifested on the street behind and on the side of them as Imperial soldiers on fast-response scooters, chariots, Lorca guessed. They were hovercraft, with no wheels and ground contact friction to overcome, fast and manoeuvrable, especially compared to the overland buggy. Each scooter had two soldiers, the rider and the gunner.

The drill wasn't a weapon. It could be devastating just the same, but in addition to its slow turn-rate, it had a tiny delay in firing that Lorca found difficult to compensate against the fast-moving target. The drill's energy beam did more damage to surrounding houses and trees, just about failing to hit the chariots.

"You need to get rid of them!" the woman shouted from the driver's seat.

Lorca felt like answering in a quip, seeing as he was self-evidently trying to do just that, but he recoiled from engaging her in any way and besides, tactically it wasn't smart to waste time on such a thing.

She did try to help him, though, by taking the buggy through a series of narrow alleys in the hope the chariots would follow them there and line themselves up for a decent shot. Unfortunately, the layout of New Anchorage favoured a smaller grid-like structure, allowing the chariots to simply swerve into a side-street and find them again on the next junction.

All the while, the gunship was hovering above them, occasionally taking potshots that destroyed a portion of the nearby city structure.

After some observation, it became clear the chariots were trying to herd them towards a certain location, but their own shots had been aimed at the wheels or the hood of the buggy, to disable not destroy.

Lorca pulled a face. Seemed like someone still wanted him alive, not that he felt especially privileged by the restraint.

"Slow down!" he shouted.

"What?!"

"Slow down! It's a damn drill, not a precision gun, I can't get it to turn fast enough for these midges. Get us somewhere with some cover and I'll handle them."

She had enough sense to see the merit of his idea, took several fast turns to gain a little breather, they crossed the main avenue again further away from the city centre, where a small plaza was home to an assortment of large metal sculptures, the shape of giant swords, as if tossed from orbit by gods. There was just enough room for them to manoeuvre, but the metal might stand up to the bombardment better than walls had and give them better protection from the gunship.

The chariots appeared side by side, the parted to drive in a wide circle around them.

By going slower themselves, Lorca had more time to drag the drill in the direction he needed it while the chariots dropped into a much more predictable pattern, surrounding them like a pack of predators before closing in for the kill.

The slow energy beam of the drill crossed empty space, cut through a dust cloud kicked up by an impact from the gunship's weapons and sliced into the back of a chariot just before it was out of range. The hit tipped the chariot to the side, its back dragging over the ground before its stabilisers got it back up. Lorca yanked on the drill, upward and to the left without releasing the trigger and sliced through the bottom of the chariot and into the leg of its gunner.

The shot neither damaged the chariot nor incapacitated the rider, but the gunner's foot was hanging by a thread and his clothes, bleeding profusely and the man himself looked unconscious. The rider swerved the chariot, trying to get away from the energy beam, gaining enough speed to outrun the drill's slow turn-rate.

Lorca cursed and a shot snapped past him, made him flinch and drag the drill around towards the second chariot. The chariot had circled closer in the time Lorca had been occupied with the other chariot and the gunner seemed to have finally selected its most chosen target: the mounted drill.

The machine had been well-built, it would likely withstand quite a few blasts, but after even that first impact, Lorca felt the grip and trigger heating up. A few more hits and he wouldn't be able to touch it.

The two chariots fell back again, wove around them and each other, picking up speed in an attempt to confuse Lorca and make sure he couldn't pick a target and couldn't tell the difference between the chariot without a gunner.

At some point, the gunship had ceased firing, only hovered ominously above, casting a dark shadow.

Lorca pulled the trigger, dragged the drill and aimed at a chariot, knew he wasn't going to hit it, but also knew that the other one would be coming around the other way. He had circled close again and took another shot at the drill. It hit the side, heat travelling into his Lorca's hands and snarled. For a moment, he held on and did his level best to move the drill, but realised the chariot was _very_ close now, close enough to see the faces of its rider and occupant.

Lorca dropped his hands from the drill, pulled the terran sidearm and fired. He hit the rider in the face and the chariot swerved out of control instantly. The chariot dug itself into the ground, kicking up dust and pavement shrapnel.

"Time to move!" Lorca shouted at the driver and glanced up at the gunship.

The crashed chariot lay still for a moment, but its gunner managed to struggle free and bring her own sidearm back up, landing several harsh shots into the roof and back of the buggy as they picked up speed. The other chariot hung back, stopped next to his downed companion. The gunner dragged the dead one from the chariot and climbed on it.

It took too long for them to do it, more than enough for Lorca to take aim with the slow drill. He used the beam to cut into the still functional chariot, up into its rider and then to the side to slice across the gunner's stomach, cutting her in half smoothly.

The gunship continued to hang over the site as the buggy sped away.

Lorca scanned the surrounding city, didn't quite dare to hope it was over and it wasn't. They barely made two turns when the low whine of more chariots made themselves heard.

"Could use some help!" Culber shouted and Lorca frowned, not sure who he was talking to.

The chariots appeared caught up to them from side streets, keeping pace, it made them easy targets, but there were twelve of them now, herding them. Lorca picked off what he could, but even though they were closer, they had the speed and agility to avoid them.

Several more shots landed close enough to the drill to begin heating it up again, finally forcing Lorca to take his hands away from it. He drew the sidearm again. It wasn't powerful enough to take out the chariots, but at least he had some precision and speed of his own.

They noticed the change in his attack right after he'd hit two riders in the head and the rest of the pack fell back from them, but still keeping up and clogging the side streets.

The gunship shot back into place above them, dark like an eclipse from one moment to the next. It came down very low, close enough so Lorca could make out the details on its underside and the weapons' batteries preparing to fire. He stared up into the, saw the light at the ends of the barrels.

Nine precise blasts took out the remaining chariots.

"Yes!" Culber shouted.

Lorca scowled, slipped from the harness and climbed back inside the buggy.

"One of yours, I take it?" he asked.

"Lieutenant Leighton," Culber explained and gave Lorca a wide grin over his shoulder, then gave the woman a glance. "I told you I got it."

"You didn't and hadn't," she said. "And we're not out of the city, yet."

Lorca agreed.

"Well, when has Kodos ever not been reliable? It's practically his second name."

Lorca felt himself drag in a hard breath, but there was something here he needed to confront and he might as well get past it while his companions were somewhat distracted.

"What's he like?" he asked. "Kodos, I mean."

"Huh?" Culber made, unsure what to make of the sudden interest. "Like I've said, he's a member of the governor's staff, the quiet type no one ever really notices, but who does really good work. He's very neat, doesn't like it when things get chaotic. This whole thing is probably going to give him a headache for a week."

"Why did he join with you?"

The woman interrupted. "Why do you even care?"

If Culber had asked the question, he might have been inclined to answer, perhaps even truthfully. _We have a history where I'm from._ But her? Opening up to _her?_ How would he know to stop himself once he started?

He looked past her and out the windshield as he forced himself to settle in his seat. There was an uncomfortable heat still lingering in the palms of his hands that he was unable to flex away.

"The less you tell me, the worse you're off," he said and adjusted the sidearm so it didn't press into his back. He'd lost half its charge in the fight and the terrans would make him fight for more.

She huffed at his assertion, but neither she nor Culber picked up the conversation again.

* * *

Lorca watched silently as they drew up to an automated gatehouse at the outer sensor perimeter. Red energy lines cordoned off the city, their warning glow making it clear that much more than an alert would go wrong if they were touched, even briefly. 

Contrary to Culber's morose description of Adrian Kodos, he was a slender, red-haired man, carrying himself with an elegant poise and dressed in tailored clothes that suited him well, collar pulled fashionably up. He waited for them, leaning back against the gatehouse, one leg hoisted up and pressed against the base, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were shielded by a set of darkened goggles, which he didn't take off when the overland buggy came to a stop next to him.

Culber and Ferasini climbed out and walked to meet him, Culber briefly turned to frown at Lorca, who made no attempt to follow. Part of him took note of the behaviour. Culber was getting used to Lorca insinuating himself into any given situation, even taking charge and giving orders. Something that Culber didn't seem to mind quite as much as it should have. It was something to work with, certainly, but not right then.

Lorca studied Kodos through the dusty window. He'd expected a surge of rage, or at least resentment or disgust. Instead, there was just a numb calmness he didn't like, it kept him rooted to the spot, a strange, roaring white noise in his ears that dulled every other sound.

He wondered. If in this universe, the massacre had been ordered and enacted by Ribiero herself, what need for a Kodos would they have had? Did he help her? Was he in charge of preparing the death lists? Or, could it be that things were turned entirely on their head in this universe? What if this Kodos wasn't the villain?

Balayna was alive _right now_. A sneering, needle-sharp version of her, willing disciple of a man ten times worse than Kodos had ever had the capacity to be. Even now, her scent hung subtly in the buggy's cabin, making Lorca breath as shallowly as he could to avoid it.

Lorca turned his head away from Kodos and Balayna, looked back at the silent city behind them. It had made no attempt to spew any more pursuers their way. In a few moments, he'd have enough control of himself to think about the implications of that and come up with a way to put the knowledge to use.

In a few moments.

Balayna and Culber returned to the buggy. Kodos stepped into the gatehouse and the cordon went down right ahead, allowing them to drive through without incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Somewhat unrelated note:** I've finally looked at the Succession comic and I'm feeling a little queasy. That's almost the exact same scene (except for the Lorca being pussy-whipped bit, I'd never do that.) I'm so happy I published mine before Succession, otherwise I'd have to completely change the epilogue. Dammit. Canon keeps throwing me curveballs in this franchise, it's terrifying.


	4. Bruises and Bitemarks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Sex, consent is complicated.

"What is this place?" Lorca asked.

"Empty," was Culber's laconic reply, being picked up as dull echo thrown around a dust-covered warehouse floor.

They had driven through the night, further and further away from New Anchorage and its military force, which curiously seemed unable to mount a pursuit. Fields of a variety of crops stretched to the horizon on either side of the road, some of them of earth origin, genetically modified to grow as tall as trees. They had reached a mountain range at dusk, the metallic deposits in the rock more than sufficient to block out sensor scans from orbital satellites or ships.

Culber and Balayna had taken turns at the wheel. Lorca neither offered to nor was asked to share in the burden. The overland buggy had no trouble climbing a steep, narrow path into the mountains, leaving the well-kept road far behind. Throughout the night, they had followed the mountain ridge.

Just before dawn, they had reached the open plain again on the other side of the ridge and quite a bit further to the north than they had been.

Amidst the fields, a building hunched large and inelegant close to the ground. A square of unadorned concrete at the hub of the narrow pathways cutting across the sprawling fields.

"Before the famine," Balayna said with a smugness entirely directed at what she perceived as Lorca's hidden discomfort. "It used to be labourer housing. The famine decimated the population and the Empire has started a resettlement programme, but large parts have instead been automated. No one uses this place anymore."

The central area of the building looked to have been used as storage for machinery, some of which still remained forlornly along the walls, farm equipment Lorca lacked the expertise to identify. Metal walkways lined the walls and allowed access to rows of doors more akin to a prison than just quarters for workers.

"Kelpien stables are behind the kitchen," Balayna added with a look at Irsa, who trailed a few steps behind them in deference. Even though Balayna wasn't even looking at her, she nodded.

They had parked the buggy just inside the sprawling, central hall. At the other end, walls had been set up to split off the back of the building on either side, leaving just a narrow gap between to allow access presumably to the kitchen and the 'stables'.

Lorca refused to let her bait him.

"I want to talk to Landry," he said. "Is there a way?"

Culber looked at him, face full of suspicion. He bared his teeth and picked up the pace, overtaking Lorca and Balayna. He stopped by a wall panel and it slid back at the touch of his hand, crumbling dust falling to the floor. Behind was a shelf containing several large crates.

"Then help me set up," Culber said as he hauled one of the crates out by its handholds.

As Lorca helped him pull out the next crate, he saw Balayna walk over to another wall panel. It slid open and unfolded a rack of two dozen terran carbines, phasers and rifles. He even spotted a row of vicious little knives in their sheaths along the side near the bottom.

"Are you _sure_ you come from a pacifist universe?" Balayna inquired sweetly mocking. "Because you look like you're ready to drool."

"It's just the company I keep," he replied, forcing himself to hold her gaze long enough to make his point before he brought it back to the crates. She made a better point than she realised, though, and he couldn't bear the thought that she might read the truth of it in his face. It had taken him years to shake the events of Tarsus IV from his reflexes and instincts, give himself a reason to push past the seething anger instead of giving in to it. Starfleet had made it very clear what was expected of him if they were to give him a captaincy.

They had, ever so slightly, begun to let him off the leash after the start of the klingon war, but he hadn't been in it long enough, perhaps it was just the ugly part of his psyche seeing its chance to reassert itself and get away with it.

With all the large crates on the floor, Culber opened the first and Lorca leaned forward for a look. Equipment was packed in insulation foil for long-term storage, technical components disassembled to allow them to fit neatly into the crate.

"What do you want with Landry, anyway?" Culber asked as he began emptying the crate and assemble the pieces.

Lorca sat back on an yet unopened crate, hung his hands loosely over his knees and fixed the doctor for just long enough, Culber's movements faltered just a little.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Lorca said.

Balayna had crossed her arms over her chest and wandered back over to them. She made no attempt to help, gaze hovering in midair in contemplation.

Culber scowled at Lorca, but when that wasn't enough to get an answer, he said, "Not really that obvious."

Lorca sighed, narrowed his eyes at him, brushed his gaze over Balayna very briefly.

"Look at you," he said, mildly. "You have no idea how screwed you are."

"Whatever happens to us, happens to you," Balayna pointed out.

"Doesn't matter, I've been screwed for months," Lorca shook his head. "But up until a day ago, the two of you had lives, careers, a home. Granted, you were sleeper agents, but I bet you didn't expect it to fall apart so quickly. How do you think this is going to end?"

"We could just kill you," Balayna said. "And beg forgiveness of the emperor."

Lorca tilted his head at her, fixed her with a long look. "I'm not from around here, is your emperor the forgiving type?"

Culber's grimace was the only answer he got to the question. Balayna's look bored into him so hard, he thought he could feel it like an actual knife. He ignored her.

"She's not, then," Lorca said, still with the thin edge of mockery in his voice, letting it linger with all its implications in the heavy silence that followed.

As expected, Balayna was the one who broke the moment. 

"You're sitting on the antenna," she said. "It needs to be set up on the roof."

Lorca shifted on his seat, arched a brow.

"I _suggest,_ " she sneered the word, "you take it up there and install it."

Must be hard for her to find herself so low on the pecking order.

Lorca hopped off the crate, found its handholds and hauled it up, straining as the weight threatened his balance. If he was fast setting up the antenna, he supposed he could still catch the tail end of the conversation Balayna wanted to have with Culber without him.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Ash Tyler had trouble summoning his anger. Something had so fundamentally changed, his emotions just lagged behind. It took him long minutes alone in his office, staring at the report hovering in front of him until he recognised the sick coiling feeling in his stomach was fear. 

Whatever nefarious plans Captain Maddox had had for him, they had all been rendered void with the obvious betrayal of his own. Failure on this level would never be allowed to stand. No matter how much of his attention the fight with the loyalists required, Maddox _would_ make time to deal with him.

Tyler searched the sparse data for clues. They didn't even know where the gunship was at the moment, didn't know if one or both pilots had betrayed them. Either way, _both_ of them were Tyler's people, one of them even his designated second-in-command.

The door sensor announced a visitor and Tyler found himself frowning as he straightened away. Maddox's officers would simply override the door lock when they came to drag him away into a booth if they didn't just shoot him right there.

Tyler brushed the display aside and opened the door, hand crawling to rest on the hilt of his dagger.

Cadet Moreau leaned in the doorway, insolently graceful giving him a sultry look with her bruised face.

"Commander," she said, her tone all respect and deference when her attitude was anything but. "May I have a word?"

No salute, he noted with a scowl, but he was too preoccupied to reprimand her. He made an impatient gesture, waving her in and she stepped through. The door closed behind her.

He stared at her sharply.

"What do you know about Lieutenant Leighton?" he asked.

The way her expression barely changed told him that she knew a great deal indeed and he felt the urge to leap the desk, grip her and drag her to Maddox's officers as someone to blame. The only reason he did not was because, at this point, such a thing would only make him seem weaker and betray his desperation. He could never hope for leniency then.

"Don't worry about him," she said, a satisfied-kitten smile spread across her face. "Worry about yourself."

Tyler lifted his head to give her a haughty look. Whatever else had happened or was yet to happen, he was her commanding officer and he liked neither her tone nor her implication.

"Where is the gunship?" he demanded. "What did Leighton do?"

"What's it look like?" she asked sweetly and took a step forward. "He picked his side. The _winning_ side."

When Tyler didn't interrupt her, her expression regained some earnestness, gaze digging into his in a way that was almost beseeching.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it," she said.

"Thought about what," he ground out past his clenched teeth. He didn't make it a question, she was going to go on regardless. 

"Your place in the Empire, of course."

He frowned at her, shifted into motion against the angry tension in his body and stalked around the desk. "So, you're the one who corrupted Leighton."

She smiled. "In more ways than one, as you know."

"And it's my turn now?"

She shook her head. "If you want, but… I've watched you for months, I know you don't fuck anyone, nobody interests you. You hate this place, this command, you can't stand the planet. Someone like you, you need to be out there," she pointed her chin towards the sky, exposing her slender neck. "You need to make a name for yourself before the boredom gets you."

"I _was_ making a name for myself," he snarled. "But now it's all gone to shit!"

She tittered a laugh, she knew as well as him that Maddox would never have let him have any share of the glory.

"They'll punish you as a traitor anyway," she said sweetly. "So why not take your chances?"

Fear spilt over back into anger from one moment to the next and closed the distance between them, drawing his dagger. He slammed her into the wall behind her, hard enough to make her head bounce and she winced in pain, the smug lasciviousness of her expression briefly wiped away. It almost made him do it again, but instead, he pointed the tip of his dagger underneath her chin, at the soft skin there.

"I'm not a traitor," he hissed at her. "My faith belongs to the Emperor!"

"What's she ever done for you?" Moreau asked, a little subdued, frightened to move too much lest the blade pierced her skin.

"Nothing!" he spat. "Just like Lorca."

" _Captain_ Lorca…" she started and Tyler almost pitied that she never got to spew her sweet lies and he didn't find out what she thought he wanted to hear, because then the door slid open. No warning this time and Tyler reacted instantly.

Two of Maddox's officers burst into the room, ready to fight, but perhaps not quite expecting Tyler so close to the door. Tyler let go of Moreau abruptly, flipped the dagger in his hand and drew it across the officer before he even had a chance.

The second one was on him then, larger and heavier than Tyler, he could afford to simply barrel into him before Tyler could bring his dagger to bear. The officer took him to the ground, punched a gloved fist into his head while he caught Tyler's wrist with his other hand and smashed it on the ground several times until Tyler's fingers opened despite his best attempts.

Over the officer's shoulder, Tyler made eye-contact with Moreau. She'd stayed still at first, the officers' might not even have had time to notice her. She watched Tyler struggle against the larger man as if contemplating if it was worth helping him if he couldn't even help himself.

Tyler managed to rip his hand free and balled it into a fist even as the officer's hand found his throat. Tyler kept punching the man's side until the pressure on his throat lessen just enough to allow him to catch a ragged breath. His wandering fingers found the officer's own dagger, still unused in its sheath. The officer noticed the triumphant flare in Tyler's eyes just as he pulled the dagger free and slammed it right into his side, then twisted it for added damage. It wouldn't be enough to take him out of the fight quickly, though.

A moment later, Moreau stepped close behind the officer, gripped his hair and pulled his head back, slicing open his throat with a swift cut.

Blood rushed over Tyler's face and chest. He caught some of it in his mouth, still catching his breath. He coughed.

Moreau gave the officer a shove but didn't manage to move him far. Tyler struggled free and stood, staring down at the two officers, then lifted his gaze at Moreau.

"Captain Lorca," Tyler said, breathing hard, surprised he had no mockery to put into his use of the rank. "I'll hear him out."

Lorca either had some very good arguments, or Tyler could come back with Lorca's head and buy himself back into the emperor's good graces. Both were certainly more promising than resigning himself to a meaningless, painful death in an agony booth.

* * *

Lorca reclined in the folding chair, cradling a cup of replicated and disgusting coffee in his hand while Culber and Balayna finished the set-up of the communications equipment. They had declined his help because they rather didn't allow him a peek at their codes and security measures. He hadn't found it worth fighting them for, so he'd let it go without argument. 

The state of the fighting over the base was crucial. Everything he did next would depend on whether Landry was coming out on top or whether the Empire would wipe them out. Both would be coming for him once that battle was done, threatening his short taste of freedom. He was too much of a pessimist to expect another chance like this to ever come again, but his position was weak no matter how he looked at it.

His greatest problem was his lack of allies. Landry — and by extension Culber and Balayna — were keeping him alive and safe, for a certain measure of safe, but they were hardly on his side. Finding aid with the Empire seemed even more doomed to failure. Landry had made a good point, the Empire would just string him up for another man's crimes, use him as propaganda or revenge or something as trivial as personal gratification. He'd lose first his dignity, and then his sanity, and then his life. In the end, he'd probably thank them for the privilege of death.

"Okay," Culber said, a PADD in his hand, attached by a wire to the portable computer console they had set up. Balayna opened a folding chair of her own next to him, fingers resting on the controls, keeping her attention on the screen. The setup either had no holographic display or it was turned off as a safety measure. Increased energy consumption in an ostensibly abandoned building could easily trigger an alert.

"Let me see," Lorca said and took a sip from the strong, bitter liquid in his hand. Like all replicated coffee, it cooled much too fast, turning stale by a matter of mere minutes. Irsa has tried setting up a real kitchen, but although they were surrounded by crops, only nutrition packages for use in replicators had been stored.

Culber stood up, put the PADD aside and put his hands on the screen, pulling it upward so he could rotate it around. He picked up his chair and dragged it next to Lorca.

"I should be getting a signal," he said. Lorca stole a look at the PADD in the doctor's hand.

Communication was established via a micro-satellite in stationary orbit right above them. Due to its small size and low signal strength, even a concerted effort to detect it would most likely fail, securing the connection as well as could be under the circumstances. The downside was they could only talk to the base or ships on a direct line, not while they were behind the sun or facing away from their target.

Culber fiddled with the controls, but then Landry came on in a frazzling image, surrounded by smoke on the bridge of the Buran.

"Can I get a status report, commander?" Lorca asked, fully aware that he might be putting too much stress on a rank in a hierarchy he had no claim to.

He saw the annoyance cross Landry's tired face, but she knew his game well enough to dismiss it. She fixed on the screen and seemed to be taking in his surroundings in turn, Balayna and Culber next to him.

Balayna hissed at his posturing, but she kept quiet otherwise.

_"The ISS Tarleton has been disabled, but we couldn't finish the job. The ISS Defiant under Captain Maddox has engaged us in battle and we couldn't hold our position. The ISS Khumaro maintains its attack on the base."_

"You're still holding the base?"

_"Yes, but that's because the ground forces have withdrawn. The Khumaro's constant attack will destroy the base in under six hours if we haven't gotten rid of the Defiant."_

"Your Buran was a formidable ship," Lorca said, not unaware of how much pride he'd taken in his own formidable Buran. Even now, a slice of proprietary anger cut through his nerve-endings at the damage this Buran was suffering, the knee-jerk need to be _there,_ on that bridge, to turn her fate around. "Why the problems with Defiant?"

Landry paused locked eyes with Culber.

"You're hesitating, commander," Lorca pointed out. "There's something you don't want me to know."

He watched her. "Is it really worth it?" he asked.

Landry took a deep breath. _"The Defiant is one of yours."_

"One of mine?" Lorca asked, arching a brow.

_"A Federation ship. Dropped from your future into our past."_

An impact shook the image of Landry and she barked several orders into the bridge, fingers gripping the armrest of the chair hard as she braced herself for another impact.

"The Defiant I know of is a Constitution-class deep space explorer, not a warship."

_"It_ was _, maybe, now it's the most powerful ship in the fleet."_

"What about your spore drive and weapon?"

Landry's expression darkened at the question, but she was saved from an immediate answer by another impact. Behind her, almost entirely hidden behind a veil of smoke, a console overheated and went dark.

Lorca caught a growl in his throat, curled his upper lip in response. He considered his chances of Landry actually letting him have the bridge, any logistical issues notwithstanding.

_"Non-functional. Stamets took everything when he betrayed us."_

Lorca put his head to the side, too playfully for Landry's taste if her renewed scowl was any indication.

"What's your plan?" he asked.

This time, when she didn't answer, it wasn't because of any information she wanted to withhold from him. She had no plans other than fighting it out to the bitter end and her chances of coming out alive were slim. Once the base and the Buran were defeated, nothing would stop this Captain Maddox from taking Tarsus apart bit by bit looking for Lorca. He couldn't run away forever, they'd run out of planet.

"When we left New Anchorage, I saw ground to orbit phaser banks," Lorca said.

"Three," Culber interjected. "New Anchorage has three."

Lorca nodded, "If you get the Defiant within range, we could help you out."

"We couldn't," Balayna said. "How do you propose we take control?"

Lorca passed a glance over her, looked at Landry and tilted his head the other way.

"Do you have long distance transporters on your base?"

_"You have a plan."_

Landry tried and failed to hide her eagerness to hear it, her desperation having eroded her distrust of him and his motives.

He said, "Abandon the base, keep some personnel on it so it's functional, but bring the rest down here. We'll take New Anchorage and get control of the guns, you bring Defiant to us and we help you shoot it down. By then, I expect, the Khumaro will have noticed what's going on and come running. And we take it apart, too."

_"We can't drop the shields around the base,"_ Landry said. _"They will know what's going on immediately."_

"They're pretty busy, we'll have a little time to make our move. The military complement in New Anchorage is minimal and disorganised, we can overwhelm them, but you need to give me the material. And you need to draw their fire until then."

_"We can't engage the Defiant_ and _the Khumaro."_

Lorca tucked the corner of his mouth into an unpleasant smile. "Where's that terran love for battle when you need it?" he asked. "Are you afraid, commander?"

She scowled. _"No, I'm realistic."_

She took a deep breath, gaze drifting around the bridge, coming to rest on the reports scrolling down the display in armrests of her chair.

"It's the best option you have," he pointed out. "You were planning to hold out as long as you could anyway, might as well make it count."

Still, she hesitated, perhaps less out of fear or realism but because she was realising who was giving the orders and her reluctance to let him built influence among people loyal to one Gabriel Lorca, especially if he managed to deliver a daring victory, though that was still a distant possibility.

_"I'll talk to the base commander,"_ she said through clenched teeth. _"You'll get the boots on the ground. They should be arriving within the next few hours, but we'll need to funnel them down gradually."_

He gave her a nod, captain to commander. This time, she didn't bark at his presumption and only returned the gesture. Evidence, if nothing else, of just how desperate things were getting out there.

When the channel closed, Balayna's attention was hard as a touch on his face. Infuriated underneath a veneer of scientifically detached calm. It was easy to guess what was going on in her head. She had herself convinced she was seeing right through him, to the core of his plans and what he intended to do.

He waited for her to say something, refusing to look back at her. If she wanted his attention, she would have to act first, give him the advantage of seeing her move before he made his own.

Culber cleared his throat and Lorca found himself more amenable to the doctor.

"What?" he asked.

"Are you in charge now?" Culber asked, not beating around the bush and putting the finger where it hurt. Lorca rather wished Culber had waited until he could answer it without having to resort to bluster.

Lorca leaned back in his seat, turned his head to face him.

"Yes," Balayna said. "Are you in charge now?"

He took a breath, blinked his attention away from Culber and at Balayna. The disfigurement of the dermal lattice on her face should help distinguish her from his memories, but instead, his senses completely bypassed such a superficial difference. It was her posture, her words, though laced with malice now rather than teasing warmth. Her eyes, deep green to fall into and get lost in.

"Let me ask you something," he said. "Given what Landry just told us, given what you know — more than I do — about the Defiant under Captain Maddox and the capabilities of the imperial ships attacking your base. Do you not _want_ me in charge?"

"It's really a weird question," Balayna said. "You're a prisoner. You're only alive because _Captain Lorca_ wanted you alive. You should be in an agony booth. I don't know what Landry's problem is. Why should we want you in charge?"

"Because _he_ 's not here. Because he's ran off to another universe and left you behind, fighting his losing battles. He's not going to come and save you ."

Balayna sucked in a sharp breath, looked at Culber and said, "We really should just kill him."

"Try it," Lorca said, sliding his hand to his weapon just to make the point.

Culber cleared his throat, breaking up the threatening stalemate.

"I actually agree with him," he said. "I'm not a soldier and neither are you, Dr Ferasini. I don't feel like leading the charge, it'd ruin my day more than the enemies'. So why not let him fight for us?"

"You understand what he's doing, right?" Balayna challenged. "He's trying to co-opt the captain's own people. It's madness to let him have them."

Her green eyes dug into him, then turned at Lorca and it felt like a laser cutting through him. "When this goes bad and it will don't say I didn't warn you."

She brushed a strand of dark hair from her face and got up, squared her shoulders and marched off towards the kitchen, leaving the two men sitting in an uncomfortable silence.

Culber glanced after her, then looked back at Lorca. "Just for the record," he said. "I think she got it in one. That's what you're doing. A 'friendly' takeover," he said, drawing quotation marks into the air.

"Can you blame me?" Lorca asked.

"Never said I did," Culber shrugged. "You're trying to survive and get the upper hand while you're at it. It's very terran of you."

"Was that an insult, doctor?" Lorca said, couldn't quite stop a trace of amusement to colour his voice and threaten his expression.

"It's true. It's why I think we'll stand a better chance with you. Gotta use what we can, including you."

He shrugged again, paused for a moment.

"So what's next?"

"This place," Lorca made a gesture with one hand. "Needs to be ready for when the troops arrive. We can't wait around for long, but they won't be getting here in one rush. The ones who come first should take the chance to take a breather. Set up an infirmary, too. They've been fighting for over two days straight, there are going be signs of wear and tear you should be patching up while you get the chance."

"I'm not that kind of medical doctor," Culber said. "I could hand out some uppers."

If Culber expected Lorca to be shocked by the suggestion, he would be disappointed.

"Whatever gets us through," Lorca said. "But I prefer them clean and sober."

Culber raised his eyebrows in surprise. Lorca gave him no time to ponder and said, "Your Lieutenant Leighton, where is he right now?"

"Probably keeping his head down. The gunship is hard to hide from the sensors, can't risk leading them straight here."

Lorca shook his head. "He needs to get here. As soon as they start beaming people down alerts will go off like fireworks. The gunship is the only heavy support we have. We'll need it."

Nodding, Culber said, "Good point, I'll let him know."

Culber turned back to the console and Lorca watched his fingers sliding over the controls as he sent a coded message on whatever hidden frequency they were using.

Turning his head, he spotted Balayna leaning in the archway leading to the kitchen. She had a bottle in her hand, light breaking through it in golden reflections.

Making a decision, Lorca got and strode towards her, making it a point to meet her gaze evenly and never stopping until he was right in front of her. This close, he caught the scent of her shampoo lingering around her dark hair.

She lifted the bottle in her hand and he flicked his gaze over it before returning it to her.

"Drink?" she asked, less antagonistic than she had been with him ever since they had first seen each other. "I found it stashed away in a cabinet."

He inclined his head, slightly, but enough to make a smile cross her face, she stepped back and he followed her into the kitchen where she pulled two drinking glasses from a shelf, too large for whiskey by far, graceless like this entire planet and the galaxy it was in. She poured the rich liquid into the glasses, generous even given their size.

She put the bottle on the counter next to it, picked up both glasses and held one out to him. It had all the appearances of a peace offering, though whether a terran knew how to be honest about these, Lorca didn't dare to even contemplate. She certainly was planning at something and he didn't believe she had given up her opposition to his leadership. This was an opening move.

His instincts told him to play along, make nice with her until she revealed her true purpose, keep her close where he could see her so when she eventually betrayed him, he would at least see it coming.

He ignored the offered glass and reached for the bottle.

"Thanks," he said casually, turning away as if she meant nothing. "I'll catch some shut-eye while there's still time."

* * *

The sleeping quarters were split into windowless cells, furnished with rows of bunk beds, for eight people each. Most of them had been stripped of mattresses and blankets, but the replicator was up to even large pieces and something as simple as fabric was only a low energy drain. 

It had been hours since Lorca had withdrawn to one of the rooms. The doors only had a central lock, so they stood wide open. The bottle he had taken from Balayna so insolently stood next to the bed and there was just enough light to make out its barely depleted contents, the only point of colour in the otherwise dark room.

Balayna picked her steps carefully, mindful of the sounds she made and of Culber who had gone to sleep several rooms over. As she walked inside, she stepped out of her shoes and flexed her toes on the dry, dusty floor as she walked. She'd need to get better clothes, something for fighting in, not to be breathtaking at work and functions at the colonial offices. She allowed her tunic to slip off her shoulders, get caught around her feet before she stepped past it. Her wide, flowing trousers slid down her long legs just as smoothly, leaving her standing next to Lorca's bed in the thin, black straps of her underwear.

The man himself was asleep on his side, one arm hung limply over the edge of the mattress, the other one tucked under his head.

She contemplated him in silence, the unkind shadows on his face, failing to detract from the patrician features she had rather admired that first and only time she had met Gabriel Lorca. He'd come to Tarsus to establish the base and set-up the organisation on the planet. There had only been Culber and her, the only followers he had in the entire star system and the base was nothing but a promisingly dead rock in space. She hadn't made any advances toward Captain Lorca, then, perhaps foolishly expecting him to make a move. But he'd been all business throughout the one night he'd been on Tarsus. It had been a different sort of seduction, though, watching this supremely clever man's plan form at his finger-tips, one tiny, seemingly insignificant piece at a time. For the first time in her life, she had not only been allowed to be part of something glorious, she was being given the chance to put her hands on it and help shape it to her will.

She understood the powers of attraction well enough. It was hormones and chemistry, genetic compatibility and a need for survival. Love, she knew, had nothing at all to do with love. She had felt it then and there was attraction here now, no matter the differences of similarities between these two men. He wouldn't consistently run from her if it were only one-sided.

She closed her fingers around the wrist by his head, pinning his hand to the mattress so he couldn't reach for the phaser he had stashed under the pillow. She folded her hand over his mouth and swung her leg over his body, straddling his hips as he shifted to his back in waking. Even through that first motion, through the layers of blankets and his clothes, they fit together as if made for each other. A pleased sigh escaped her at the thought.

She pulled her hand away and kissed him, forestalling any protests by claiming his mouth. His lips were pliant from sleep at first, willingly parted under her attack, but as he woke fully, tension ran the length of his body underneath her all the way to his lips and tongue. His neck pulled taught, pushed his head back into the pillow to draw back from her.

She let him draw back just a little, trailing her tongue to the edge of his mouth.

"I've noticed the way you avoid looking at me," she whispered. "You're terrified of me."

"And that attracts you?" his voice was rough, his captured wrist flexed under her grip, but his free hand had come up to trail up her thigh and rest on her hip, timidly without applying any pressure. 

"No," the truth spilt from her lips before she could stop herself.

"Yes," she corrected herself, but his dry chuckle told her he'd long since noticed the slip-up.

She bit the side of his neck. It didn't matter. She was no ideological purist, she knew that fear alone wouldn't turn a dangerous man into a harmless one, far from it, and possibly even the opposite.

Her hand lets go of his wrist, content with his passivity and the way his body relaxed when she did, sinking back into the mattress leisurely. His freed hand came up, tracing a similar line up her thighs to her hips. His fingers were clever, though, even light as their touch was, mesmerising little caresses that made her slow down and linger. She had wanted to just take him, hard and fast, and leave him.

She sat up on her knees, just enough room for her to pull the sheet away from between them, then slid out of his loose hold. Quickly, she dipped forward to steal another kiss as her fingers made short work of the drawstrings keeping his pants up.

She chuckled and he gasped. There was just enough light to see his eyes widen, breath caught in his throat, as he made a sound closer to desperation than surprise, but he arched his hips to help her slide the pants down and out of the way, eager moans spilling from his mouth.

If she hadn't been so far gone already, so nonsensically needy, she'd have sneered or joked at how fast his body responded, but right then, it was just right. Rocking down for a first, long slide of perfect bliss, she was grateful that there were no mattresses in the upper beds, giving her all the space she wanted to toss her head back.

She had thought she wanted his submission right until he came alive. He closed his idly caressing fingers around her hips and held her there, almost to a standstill until, whimpering, her body shook with the need to move and for him to move.

He shifted his feet, found some purchase and leverage on the blanket to thrust into her. His hands had found their strength again, the feathery caresses intensifying until they left heated trails along her skin. Reaching up, he curled an arm around her waist and pulled himself up, never quite enforcing his slow rhythm, never quite letting her have her own.

Maddening.

And utterly exhilarating.

He found the sensitive spots on her, as surely as no other lover ever had — along the curve of her lower rip, on the side just above the small of her back — he laved the inside of her upper arm with lips and tongue before down a sharper line with his teeth to her chest. His hard breath tickled her breast, his low voice spilt over her as yet another touch. 

Rolling her hips in his grip, mewling, she finally got him to pick up speed. He dropped his hands to her waist, one curling up along her spine to rest against her neck, letting her arch her head back.

She dug her nails into his back, carved down into unexpectedly unscarred flesh, muscles jumping with the mounting power of his thrusts. He drove himself so deep into her, she lost her grip on him, desperately clamping her hands around the unfeeling bed-frame next to her.

Everything broke all at once. His rhythm, his cries, the fleeting remnants of her control and her skin under his teeth. They could do nothing but cling to each other, spasm of pleasure so intense, in any other place — in any other _universe —_ it would have razed the borders between gratification and suffering.

Under the rush of sheer ecstasy, folded her body over him, boneless and breathing hard, flecks of light sparkling behind her heavy-lidded eyes. Her muscles still quivering inside, pleasurable little spasms tickling her even as the ongoing stimulation wrenched a low groan from him.

Rather than push her away, he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer, rocking into her, unable or unwilling to stop himself, dragging the sensation out for as long as it will let him.

She slipped off him almost by accident, her arms tense to push herself up, but he held her fast and rolled them to the side, trapping her between him and the wall. At that moment, even the shock of getting captured was nothing but an added thrill.

Sensing her tension and beginning resistance, he just tightened his arms, he buried his face in her hair and whispered, "You've gotten yours. Just let me hold you now."

* * *

Balayna eventually fell asleep in his arms, reluctantly trapped by his memories of a lost love she cared nothing about. Her scent filled his nostrils, sex and sweat and _her,_ all of her and blessedly alive. His mind could pick out the points of divergence, but his body just reacted until his mind spun out of control. And beyond all this, there was the primal sense of heat and solidity of a body next to him, the living breathing warmth of skin on skin. He hadn't realised how distant that sense had grown, how sensitive his nerves had grown in just two months with barely a touch. 

A distant part of him knew, even as he held her tighter, that she could easily reach over his shoulder for the weapon under his pillow and make good on her earlier threat. He pushed the thought aside and inhaled deeply. She was asleep, as guileless as she could ever be.

He let himself be lulled into a dreamless sleep.

It lasted barely an hour before she tensed and stirred in his arms. He was wide awake in an instant, already slipping back into a newly-developed habit of anticipating attack vectors. Though, her only attack was sliding her hand down his flank to his thigh.

She pulled back from him, just far enough to look at his face. There wouldn't have been room for more, either, he'd crowded her into the corner as he slept.

Her expression tucked into a lopsided smirk as she continued to stroke the inside of his thigh.

"You know the other me, don't you? That's how you know how to touch me," she said.

He shifted his legs, but not far enough to make her stop her insidious ministrations. She was too close to miss his reaction or the stutter in his breathing or the too-long pause as he failed to answer.

_Deflect,_ he told himself, found a growl that made a serviceable laugh. He loosened his grip and rolled away from her, tossed an arm over his eyes.

He said, "Or I'm just good in bed."

She dug her fingers into his side, bare skin and muscle unyielding under her touch.

"What's she like?" she asked, completely undeterred. Her voice and the sense of her body next to him was nothing but challenge and possessive lust.

He lost the thread, the willingness to _pretend,_ especially for her benefit.

"She was killed," he said.

He heard her laugh, a grating, sardonic sound and the stroking she had ceased briefly returned. She pushed herself up on her elbows and her breath ghosted over his face and throat as she leaned over him.

Something kept him in place as she brushed her lips over his, beginning to respond to the kiss, the surge of memory overwhelming him.

He drew a sharp breath, took his arm away and reached up to grip her shoulders, pushing her to arms' length as he felt his upper lip curl into a sneer.

"I've mocked him for it, your _captain,_ " he said. "You know? On the bridge. On _my_ ship. I killed his lover and I mocked him because he'd be looking for her doppelganger."

The expression on her face made no sense to him, looking at him as if he was a meal she intended to gorge herself on, whether he wanted her to or not.

He felt the resistance under his fingers, knew he was beginning to hurt her, but her only response was a quickening of her breathing and a hot spark of greed in her eyes.

"I hope he's just as disappointed," he added.

He dropped her back to the bed as he got up to his feet abruptly, heard her wince when her head scraped along some hard edge of the bed-frame.

He swiped the bottle of whiskey from the floor and took it with him, several steps away from her and the bed, unable to bear the sense of closeness and the vicinity of her hungry gaze, even now following the outlines of his body.

Away from the heated discomfort of the bed, the cool air hit him with almost the same force as the woman had and with much the same effect. He took a deep sip from the bottle, not quite sure if he hoped the alcohol would help clear his head or take everything else away, too.

"That's all?" Balayna sneered, coming up behind. "That's the best you can do?"

He couldn't bear to look at her.

"You all disgust me," he hissed, the mere thought of it making his lips curl and nostrils flare. "Every single one of you, everything you stand for."

He gathered his courage to look at her, pleased and repulsed himself as the look finally made her draw back from him, finally realising that none of this was a game to him, and it never would be.

"Do you, you pathetic liar?" she asked, contempt thick in her voice. Her gaze flicked down to the whiskey. "Trying to hide in a bottle from the truth?"

He was still for a moment, focussed instead on the burning taste as it ran down his throat and pool in his belly, where his muscles tensed involuntarily at the fresh memory of her touch.

He reached back and flung the bottle past her head with all the force he could muster. The bottle crashed past the bed-frame and changed it's trajectory before it hit the wall, sending a spray of liquid bronze and sparking shards all over the bed and making her flinch when some of it hit her exposed back.

"I'm taking a shower," he said, not sure why he even offered her the explanation, but glad he could turn his back to her and leave the room, feeling her attention burn after him.

The bathroom was a communal room of long rows of shower-heads, two centuries out of date, with mouldy discolourations and layers of limescale.

If there was a lock, he neither saw it nor would have bothered with it. He didn't care about the dirt or the smell. He crossed the room, turned on the shower and didn't care about the too cold sting of the water on his oversensitive skin, letting it rinse away the last vestiges of arousal and hoping the cruel spray would block out the mounting white-noise hissing in his ears. He leaned his forehead against the tiled wall, folded his arms over his head and prayed for the breakdown to finally come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References:** "Bruises and Bitemarks" is a song by Good With Grenades; the ISS Tarleton is named after British officer Banastre Tarleton (because Tavington wouldn't be nearly pretentious enough); the ISS Khumaro is a reference to Richard K. Morgan's Altered Carbon.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 02/February/2019_


	5. The Value of Pawns

Silence fell when the door of the ready room drew closed behind Landry as if the constant battering of noise had found its tipping point and fell the other way. It was just her tired mind, of course, perhaps trying for a blackout of her thoughts. She kept herself going and sound rushed back, although a little muffled.

The ventilation had been turned down, so smoke hung thinly in the room, the acrid smell of melting metal and burned fabric, the stench wafting off of dead consoles. She pushed herself around the desk, planted both hands on its surface and kept herself upright.

There was nothing she could do about taking the captain's chair on the bridge while she commanded the Buran. But here, in the tiny sliver of privacy she had earned when she ordered the Buran to fly into the asteroid belt, here she wouldn't trespass on her captain's rightful place, even if he himself had wanted her there.

She opened a drawer in the desk and took out a small, foil-wrapped package. Her hands shook a little as she let the package unfurl to reveal the row of tiny injectors and pried one of them loose. She turned around and leaned against the desk, glad for what support it offered.

The drug had been developed for shock troops and emergencies. It wiped away every symptom of tiredness and exhaustion and took away the pain of any injury. The eventual crash was its only downside. Increased or repeated doses had no effect and there were currently no known counter-agents. Once the drug wore off, the body shut itself down for several hours no matter what. Most of her crew had already taken their doses, but she had wanted to hold out on her own, because she could not tell how much time they would need and the thought to be passed out in her captain's chair, surrounded by an unconscious crew, while the Defiant boarded them didn't sit well with her.

Now, though, with _this other man's_ plan to enact, she couldn't afford to let her fatigue dull her senses and slow her mind. She brought the injector to her wrist and pressed it to the veins, flipped the release.

It felt cool for a moment, soothing, almost like a caress travelling up her arm. She let her eyes close while she waited for the effect to take hold.

The Buran was smaller and more manoeuvrable than the Defiant, the dangerous course right into the asteroid belt had bought them a little time. Captain Maddox, correctly, guessed that they were making their way back to the base and knew he didn't need to waste his shields on a bunch of rocks, he could just keep pace with them and wait at the other end. At least, Landry thought, he was following her lead, even if he probably saw that differently.

Not only did the short respite allow the crew a breather, it also gave them a chance to patch some of the worst points of damage they had sustained. Landry had known things were bad when the chief engineer had stopped complaining about how taxing short, warp 1 jumps were on the drive. If he had no time to complain, he had his hands full with keeping them all from blowing up.

One of the photon torpedo launchers had sustained damage, too, but one of the engineers had sworn to everything she hated that she could repair it if she had only five minutes without the need to fire anything. She had her five minutes, Landry would be promoting her if any of them were to survive.

With their shields on a solid forty per cent, the navigator had taken it upon himself to bring them through the belt without straining them further. So far, Landry hadn't felt any significant impacts, only the sluggish response of the motion dampeners as the ship made too-quick twists and turns on its way through the field. She was only glad that Maddox hadn't had time to seed the belt with mines, otherwise, this wouldn't even be possible.

The sensation of coolness climbed in her system, wiped away the ache in her muscles and the hurt in her bruises. Only when her head finally cleared did she release how bad it had been, how close to the edge she had come. It had been stupid to not use the medication earlier, but now she was ready to take on the next step.

She brushed the discarded foil and injectors off the desk, then opened an encoded channel to the base commander. He didn't come on immediately and when he did, his voice was made even rougher by the hissing of static in the audio-only transmission.

"Commander," she greeted him.

_"Commander,"_ was his reply, not without a moment of humour at the repetition.

"Status?"

_"Not to be that guy, but it's bad. The Khumaro has towed the Tarleton back into orbit. The damn thing can't fly for shit, but her weapons are still mostly functional. The thing is, they've stopped firing at the base directly. They've taken to carving up the damn rock we're sitting on. I feel like a feast-day kelpien. If they keep that up, the whole thing will break up and tear us apart with it."_

"How long can you hold out?"

_"I have absolutely no idea,"_ the commander hissed in frustration. _"I wish these cowards would get down here, give us a real fight, not this… fucking imitation of a battle."_

"I hear you, commander," she said with a small, vicious smile creeping into her voice. "We have a plan. The Buran is currently on the way back to the base. We will engage the Khumaro and get the Tarleton away from you. The moment you can, you need to drop your shields and transport your soldiers down to the surface of Tarsus IV. The exact coordinates are in your files."

_"I don't like the sound of any of that. We'll be sitting ducks up here with no troops."_

"You and your command staff are to remain on the base, it's essential that the imperial forces don't notice what's going on. Whatever you do down there, keep doing it."

_"What's on Tarsus that helps us?"_

"Ground to orbit phaser-banks. Your people will take New Anchorage, get control of the phaser-banks, I'll lure the Khumaro and the Defiant back within range and…" she stopped, mimicked the explosion with her hands, although she knew he wouldn't see it. "Fireworks over Tarsus."

The base commander was silent, clearly trying to figure out how to tell her he didn't think the plan was going to go as smoothly as her description of it had made it seem. For one, there was absolutely no guarantee the Buran would be able to hold out against two imperial ships for the timeframe they had.

_"Whatever you need, commander. We'll get them down."_

"Fighters first, only who can follow orders and hold a weapon."

_"Of course,"_ he said, paused before he added, _"But for the record, I really wish I'd get to kill at least one of these bastards myself today."_

"All you've got to do is survive," Landry said. "Fight another day." It was, of course, true for all of them. The Buran was going to take heavy fire for a long time just to set things in motion and there was the ever-present needling doubt that she had put the success of this entire operation into the hands of a prisoner who should never have been let out of his cell. Despite the gravity of the situation and all the moving parts she could barely keep in her view, not to mention even dream of controlling, this different Lorca was capable of being a force all his own, with nothing to ensure his compliance, now that he was released. She pushed the thought aside. There was nothing she could do, except use him as a weapon for as long as he let her.

_"Now there's a challenge,"_ the commander chuckled. _"I'll take it."_

"Good. I expected nothing less."

She closed the channel with a flick of her finger, let her eyes close for another moment of quiet, but this time the medication didn't let the tranquillity come. Instead, there was only an itching sense of urgency, forcing her away from the desk, squaring her shoulder.

Head held high, she strode back out on her smoke-filled bridge.

"All right, let's show them how it's done."

* * *

The Buran broke from the feeble protection of the asteroid belt with phasers blazing. It got several shots in at the Khumaro, aiming for the ship's nacelles with the obvious intention of disabling it like the Tarleton in their first skirmish. The Khumaro's shield held, causing only minimal damage, but the ship swung around immediately, ceasing its attack on the asteroid to focus on the new, moving target. 

The Tarleton, without any drive of its own, fired several torpedoes at the Buran, but otherwise continued its attack on the base.

The Buran went to warp, springing itself out of range of the torpedoes' targeting. Out in the openness of space, the Defiant had no trouble catching up to the Buran. It engaged the smaller ship the second the warp jump was completed and forcing the Buran to transfer all energy to shields just to hold out against the first onslaught, unable to run or even fire back in that first moment.

Like a predator on its prey's bloody trail, the Khumaro joined the fray, picking at the Buran's underbelly with the slicing assault of its phasers. The Buran shuddered for a moment, seemingly immobile before she sprung back into action. Her phaser banks opened fire, she used every ounce of additional agility to roll over the Khumaro, switching to her rear phaser banks to deliver a second folly just before the Khumaro could adjust her own shields.

One phaser sliced through the Khumaro's shields and impacted the bulk of the ship, near the port-side nacelle. The manoeuvre had brought the Khumaro between the Defiant and the Buran, shielding the Buran from a direct phaser attack, but the torpedoes the Defiant let loose swung swiftly around the Khumaro and hit the underside of the Buran's saucer section.

The Buran jumped back to warp, bringing it to the edge of the solar system, where she dropped back into impulse, used a swing-by around a small moon to accelerate her and propelled her at sub-light speed back towards her pursuers just as they finished their own warp jumps. The Buran passed through between them, close enough to the energy fields of their shields collided and short-circuited each other. Opening full fire on both sides, the Buran deliver a long, ongoing phaser bombardment along the length of both imperial ships.

The Buran herself suffered several impacts on her nacelles and the defunct spore drive installation. It shook and shuddered when one of her four nacelles went critical, tiny explosions running from the tip towards the body of the ship.

Immediately, the Defiant and the Khumaro concentrated their fire on the vulnerability. The Buran's shields were on full power around the drive, but the internal and external forces were too much and the field weakened. Just before the explosions could reach the ship, new explosion propelled the destroyed nacelles away from the Buran while her remaining two nacelles flared up, their energy rerouted and put the Buran back into motion.

On the bridge of the Buran, Landry's hands were clasped tightly around the armrests of the captain's chair, painfully aware of the severity of the damage they had already suffered.

"Transmission from the base, sir," the comm officer announced through the smoke and sparks around them. "They say the Tarleton is concentrating its fire on the base, they can't drop their shields to beam anyone out."

Landry had suspected something of the sort but had hoped without the steadying tractor beam of the Khumaro, the Tarleton would drift off course much faster than it had.

"Well, fuck that," Landry hissed. "Fire a torpedo at our dropped nacelles, maybe ignite them, give them a moment to deal with that. Then get us back to base, ASAP."

"Aye!" the navigator and the ops officers shouted at the same time.

The sirens howled announcing the launch of the torpedoes just ahead of yet another warp jump. The engineer on the bridge cursed colourfully but wasted no time on complaining. Even with only half their nacelles functioning and the other two's rough detachment causing some severe structural damage, the Buran was still capable of going to warp, although it was far from a smooth jump. Landry was fairly certain they left a trail of bits and pieces of essential components behind.

"We've got two minutes until we're back, do we have enough juice to tow the Tarleton?"

"We don't have enough juice to tow a sailboat, commander," the engineer said.

Landry narrowed at the tactical information scattered across the view-screen. It was an exaggeration, of course, but not nearly as much as she had hoped.

"Draw the energy from the phaser-banks," she ordered. "Catch the Tarleton in a slingshot and toss it at the Khumaro when they drop out of warp."

"Even if we could do that, it'll fry everything we've got left," the engineer pointed out, but he was already working on re-routing the currents to do as she had said.

They used the stored kinetic energy of the jump to fly close to the Tarleton, engage the tractor beam and drag the helpless ship with them. The Tarleton trembled in their wake, did its best to use phaser blasts to stabilise itself. An ingenious attempt, but not strong and precise enough to break the Buran's hold for more than a handful of moments at a time. When the connection snapped, it made things worse for the Tarleton, tumbling helplessly in space.

The Buran caught her again, this time the lock held and they swung around each other like dancers, in increasing speed and momentum.

The Khumaro arrived first, just as the Buran and the Tarleton completed an orbit. The tractor beam cut them loose, propelling both ships away from each other, their massive bodies unstoppable in the emptiness of space.

Due to the mass of the Tarleton, it was moving comparably slowly, but it wasn't enough to enact any evasive manoeuvres so close after a warp-jump. The Tarleton smashed through the Khumaro's shields, tore through the delicate attachments of the nacelles and their bulks collided with the unstoppable slowness and utter devastation of a breaking avalanche.

The Buran had lost all power after it released the Tarleton, being sent just as tumbling the other direction. Landry remembered shouting to get everything they had to shields in the darkness, but couldn't tell if there was any response in their systems left, any energy or power to draw upon.

They had been launched back into the asteroid belt, tiny rocks impacting them like hail, making it clear that there were no shields at all to protect them from the shockwave of two exploding warp-cores.

"Shields!" she shouted herself hoarse and her only answer was an incoherent scream from where the engineer was still holding on to his console. Something sparked in the absolute blackness, another spark and the minute sound of the systems booting up.

The first quake of the shockwave shook through them so strong, Landry felt them pulling on the very molecules of her being as the integrity of the Buran began to disintegrate.

"Shields!" the engineer announced, laughing in mad triumph. "We have shields!"

The shockwave broke over and against them.

* * *

Leaned against the wall by the kitchen, Culber watched the soldiers being beamed down five at a time, assessing their state with a critical look from a distance while Ferasini barked a quick debrief at them and directed them to the infirmary, the kitchen, or the sleeping quarters. 

As the hall began to fill up and the first batch of soldiers reported for duty, Culber and Ferasini set them to task, assembling buggies from stored or replicated parts so they could rush back to New Anchorage. With the lockdown still in effect, they couldn't beam there directly, even if they had the technology available. A scattering field would intercept and disperse a transporter beam.

A message announced itself on the PADD in his hand and he glanced down. Leighton announcing he had picked up Marlena Moreau and… Commander Tyler? Now that was an interesting development, but Culber couldn't quite decide whether he liked it or not. He would find out soon enough, so he wasn't inclined to ponder it.

Lorca wandered to his side, cradling yet another cup of pitch-black coffee, making Culber wonder if the man actually liked the stuff or whether he just needed something to hold on to, an old habit from when he had been, well, whoever he had been where he'd come from.

Despite having slept longer than the rest of them, Lorca looked tired, face drawn into a gaunt calm with eyes narrowed into seemingly perpetual annoyance. Maybe the coffee, Culber thought, amusing himself.

The next batch of soldiers being beamed down accepted Ferasini's direction and took their leave. Some of them noticed Lorca and saluted him quickly and briskly. Ferasini hadn't noticed, with her back turned to them, but Culber had no doubt she'd have scowled if she knew.

Culber had vaguely hoped their tryst would have put both of them into a better mood, it had definitely sounded like they had enjoyed themselves. However, Ferasini seemed even more short-tempered while Lorca's pretence of confident self-control had taken on a sharp, icy quality.

"I just got a message from Moreau," Culber said. "Leighton picked her up. The gunship is inbound any minute. There's no tail."

"Any news from Landry?"

Culber pulled a face and said nothing as he handed Lorca the PADD and watched the man's face as he looked over the reports pieced together from the soldiers that were being beamed down from the base. Landry had managed to take out the Khumaro and the Tarleton, but the Buran was barely holding together anymore. They were currently engaged in a deadly game of hide-and-seek with the Defiant in the asteroid belt, trying to leg it back to Tarsus before they were turned into space debris.

When Lorca handed the PADD back without a comment, Culber said, "Do we have enough time?"

Lorca took a sip of the coffee and despite watching for it, Culber spotted not even the slightest reaction to the vile liquid making itself known in the set of his face.

"Wrong question," Lorca said. "We'll just have to move as fast as we can. How many people do we have?"

"Fifty-two so far, most of them in fighting condition," Culber said. "They are only sending down the foot-soldiers, by the way. The officers are staying on the base."

Lorca frowned. "I need officers with command experience."

Culber made a sound of disagreement at the back of his throat. "No, you just think that. You need soldiers who'll follow your orders. Officers would challenge you, doesn't matter what Landry told them or whether it's not the smart thing to do. You keep forgetting that you're not our captain. Granted, most of us slip up on that one every so often, but that doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, you're just the pretender and you haven't proved anything to most of these people."

Culber pointed his chin at the milling soldiers. "Some of them were your jailers not very long ago."

Lorca snorted a derisive laugh. "You think I can't make some uppity officers respect the chain of command?"

Culber shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. But the thing is, I don't think we really have time for that much of a pissing contest. Landry is doing all of us a favour, go with it."

Lorca didn't look convinced but held his silence. Culber already sensed that he wasn't going to let that one go, because tactically, Lorca's demand for officers wasn't a bad idea. Culber really hoped he wasn't somewhere on the list of possibilities, but he had already worked out his arguments against it. Ferasini, he suspected, would be doing the opposite. She had no combat experience of her own, however, and would most likely just become a victim of her own ambition.

"Do you want to know why we've all chosen to follow Captain Lorca?" Culber asked. There was a twitch in the other man's face at the sound of his own name. It looked almost like he was developing a nervous tick.

"I really couldn't care less," Lorca said, distaste thick in his voice.

"Well, but you should," Culber insisted. "Because these are the people you're going to have to trust." He pointed at the soldiers. "Captain Lorca cares for us. Every single one of us, we're important to him. That's the difference between him and the emperor."

"He burned dozens of you when he took my ship," Lorca said. "Didn't seem like he cared."

Culber shook his head, wondering how he could get past the other man's wilful ignorance. He couldn't blame him for attacking every aspect of Captain Lorca he could, but Culber found he couldn't stand the unfairness of it. Captain Lorca deserved respect, even — or perhaps especially — from someone with the same face.

"Seems to me like you're a captain, too," Culber said. "Had a ship, had people under your command. I bet you've been in plenty of situations where you knew you couldn't protect everyone. I always thought that's the point. Commanding officers, they've got to make the hard calls. Are you really going to stand there and pretend you never did any of that? And if you didn't, what kind of worthless captain are you?"

Lorca kept his mouth clamped firmly shut, frown directed away from Culber and at the two soldiers who passed them by on the way to the kitchen. The two saluted and Lorca, seemingly without realising it, gave them a curt nod in acknowledgement.

Culber softened his tone a little, "The point is, everyone gets used by someone for something. But the emperor? She uses people _up_ and throws them away. In her mind, everyone is replaceable at the flick of her finger. That's what makes her weak, she doesn't see the bigger picture. Some minor transgression can get anyone in her inner circle killed at any moment, it doesn't matter if they serve an important purpose or have talents or skills she actually needs. Captain Lorca knows what the people under his command can do. He's put us all in the one place where we matter the most. He'd never waste anyone just because he can. Even if someone is just a tiny cog in his machinations, that tiny cog is important, because without it everything else breaks down. He matters to us because we matter to him, that's the thing that really counts in my book."

When Lorca only responded with another sip of the coffee, Culber added, "And it's in their books as well. That's why we follow him and that's why he has people loyal to him. The emperor only has people who fear her."

"Are you in love, doctor?"

Culber laughed. "I wouldn't go that far. A crush, maybe. A small one. I've only met him once, after all, and I got, uh, distracted by someone else at the time."

"Someone I know?"

"Paul Stamets, Captain Lorca's chief scientist, I don't know if you've met," Culber said, looked at Lorca and said, "or which one."

"The magic mushrooms guy? I saw him briefly on my ship. Seemed like someone in need of a beating."

Culber snorted a laugh. "He's… peculiar, I'll give you that. It's difficult to explain, sometimes people just click, like it's meant to be, like the whole world and your entire existence makes sense suddenly."

"He's betrayed you and ran off to the emperor," Lorca said and Culber pulled a face. He had seen the riposte coming a mile away, but a small part of him was still shocked that even this Lorca hadn't been nice enough to let it slide.

"Well, he was just a one-night stand!" Culber said, too quickly and too defensively for his own taste. "It's not like he told me he'd planned to do that years in the future!"

"A true love one-night stand," Lorca mused, took another sip. "You think he feels the same?"

Culber shrugged. "It's a nice thought," he admitted. "I like hanging on to it."

Lorca said nothing for a moment, gaze carefully kept away from Culber, between the open hall and the passing soldiers. "Would he come back for you?"

Intensity lurked behind the seemingly innocent question, neutrally voiced between a nod at a passing soldier and a sip of the worst coffee in the galaxy. The spore drive was Lorca's only certain way to get home and Paul the only one he knew who could operate it. Captain Lorca's and Paul's relationship had always been marked by mutual distrust and disdain, Culber rather doubted Paul would be much more amenable to this Lorca's arguments, with or without Culber backing them up. Which, truth be told, he could definitely see himself doing, mostly for entirely selfish reasons.

None of this seemed like a particularly good idea to share with the man next to him, who was still amassing an interesting arsenal of connections and pieces of knowledge, figuring out how to make best use of all of them.

The PADD chirped in his hand and he glanced down, with a hint of relief at having a proper excuse to abandon the topic, hopefully for a good long while.

"Here they are," Culber said and walked to the nearest control console to open the broad doors. They slid open reluctantly, screeching as their worn-out meta-materials were forced to grind against each other. The gunship glided into the hall, filling almost a quarter of it and sending some soldiers scrambling out of the way hastily.

The gunship extended its spindly landing gear, looking like a giant spider as it sat down on long legs before it lowered itself fully to the ground. Handholds snapped out along the side of it and the cockpit lifted, then slipped back into the chassis.

Marlena Moreau's dark head became visible first, standing up to scan the area until she spotted Culber slowly walking towards the gunship.

"Tommy's wounded!" she shouted at him, then bent down to haul the slumped, much larger man over her shoulder.

Culber broke into a run, giving a shout for aid and scaled the outside of the gunship. Leighton was unconscious, sitting in a puddle of blood in the co-pilot seat next to Moreau. Behind the two seats, wedged in the too narrow space, was Commander Tyler, handcuffed and blindfolded, though without any visible injuries on him.

Culber helped Moreau pull Leighton from the gunship and down, where he handed him over to four waiting hands.

"Get him to the infirmary," Culber told them. To Moreau, he said, "Report to Dr Ferasini, she's around here somewhere."

She nodded but bent back down to get a hold of her captive.

Culber decided to let her struggle with him on her own time. He hopped down and hurried after the injured man. 

* * *

Tyler had felt the gunship touchdown, heard Moreau shout for help. There were voices and the rustle of clothes and combat gear as Leighton was removed from the gunship. A moment later, Moreau's slim fingers dug like steel wire into his arms. He considered kicking at her with his legs, just to spite her, but decided against it. Blind and without the use of his hands, he was more likely to make a fool of himself than make anything harder for her in any significant way. 

"There must be an interesting story behind it," a deep, female voice said and a second set of hands took hold of his legs.

"We've been working on him for a while," Moreau said, hissing when Tyler's weight nearly slipped her. She cursed, then said, "Let's just let him drop."

He braced himself, but judging from the angle, he was already halfway down. He hit the ground with his feet first, the impact sending jarring pain up his bones because he hadn't been able to cushion the fall, but he didn't think it had caused any lasting damage. He would even have struggled to his feet, but a low thud landed next to his head and a boot kicked him between the shoulders. He decided to stay put.

"That wasn't quite the method I had in mind," the unknown woman said, sarcasm thin and deadly in her tone.

Moreau gave him another kick, but then hauled him to his feet after all and walked him away from the gunship.

"Nothing works on this guy," Moreau said, sounding petulant. "I can't figure him out. But his command is shot to hell now, so I thought I'd just take him along, see if the captain can talk some sense into him."

"Let's get to that later," the unknown woman said in an obvious deflection. Tyler wondered if Moreau couldn't hear it. The woman said, "What happened to Leighton?"

"He got stabbed when he took over the gunship, his co-pilot didn't want to see the light. We dumped her body when Tommy picked me up. We needed the space."

Roughly, she freed him of his blindfold and gave him a shove so he stumbled forward. He would have been able to stay on his feet, but Moreau swiped his legs away from under him and he crashed. He managed to turn his body slightly, protecting his chest and taking the brunt of the fall on his shoulder. The force of it bounced his head down, though not nearly as painfully as it could have been. Kicked up dust filled his nostrils and he exhaled sharply to clear his airways. Moreau gave him a kick, not hard enough to really hurt, she was just reminding him of how she had bested him. It was hard to even be angry with her, not when she had played her game so well and he had been entirely clueless the entire time through. She had been laughing in his face all this time, knowing so much more than he did. She had had him so utterly convinced he had her figured out, he never even considered looking deeper.

Except, now, the ground had opened up and revealed the abyss beneath his feet and it was so much darker than anything he had ever dared dream about.

"That is enough," a voice commanded and the kicks into his side stopped.

He struggled on his side, lifting his head to take stock of his surrounding.

A warehouse or large garage, mostly empty except for a haphazard array of equipment set up near where he'd been dropped. He watched as a woman walked past him, said Moreau's name and then seemed to lead her away.

Tyler was fixated on the man who had spoken and now stood several steps away, casually, as if giving Tyler time to slide his gaze up along his body in appraisal. Solid boots, dusty from the dirt in the hall, tight-fitting trousers with the dull gleam of combat-weave to it. A freshly replicated thigh holster held a phaser, straps bunching a loose shirt around narrow hips. He wore a dark jacket, reinforced chitinous patches on elbows and shoulders and along his sides. Tyler knew the design, there would a line of reinforcement down along the spine at the back, too, meant for close-quarter fighting. The collar was pulled up, framing his exposed throat. Visible just at the edge, almost hidden behind the collar, was the discolouration of small bruise and the distinct marks of teeth from someone he had allowed close enough to mark him.

He returned Tyler's scrutiny levelly, blue eyes sharp and unblinking, but not as wantonly malicious as Tyler had expected. There was no mistaking the man's identity, though.

After Lorca's first, failed coup, his likeness had been added to all fighting simulations across the Empire. It had been programmed based on the man's medical scans, his own fighting logs, every piece of data the Empire possessed about his skills. Most soldiers hated the simulation, considering it overpowered when even the best of them rarely exceeded a one-in-eight success rate. 

Tyler, as a commander, knew that the soldiers' assessment wasn't far off. It was meant to stoke their bloodlust, play to their pride and desire to test themselves against such a foe.

Up until this moment, no matter what Maddox had said and what the reports had suggested, Tyler hadn't quite believed Lorca really was hiding out on Tarsus.

Tyler cursed quietly to himself and dropped his head to the floor in a moment of weakness.

Lorca picked up a chair as he walked, set it on the ground in front of Tyler and sat down, forearms resting on his knees, hands suspiciously empty as he leaned in and tilted his head just slightly.

"I'm Captain Gabriel Lorca," he said and for a moment his expression held something almost like warmth. Tyler couldn't think of anything to say, didn't want to show a hand he probably didn't even have. He just watched him and waited.

Lorca lifted his gaze briefly to glance in the direction where Moreau had gone, but his expression gave nothing away.

"What do you think I should do with you?"

Tyler bared his teeth, "Ask Cadet Moreau, she told me we'd talk, and then she stuck a needle in my neck," he took a sharp breath. "My fault, of course, should have knee-capped the little minx when I had the chance, but… you've thoroughly infiltrated my people, I lost New Anchorage. At this point, Captain Maddox can't even use me as a scapegoat anymore."

Something thin and sharp crossed Lorca's face in the guise of a quick smile.

"Is that what was happening? You were okay with being a scapegoat?"

Tyler snorted. "That just depends on in how many pieces Maddox gets a hold of you."

This time, the amusement lingered a little longer, though it wasn't any more pleasant for it.

"What's your opinion on the empire?"

The moment the question was out, Tyler knew he couldn't answer it. There was too much mixed into it, too much at stake to put into words. The empire was _everything_ he'd ever known in his life. Even as a child, he'd wanted nothing more than join its army and make his way all the way to the top. Yet, at some point, he'd lost a gamble he hadn't realised was being played and he'd ended up with a dead-end assignment on a planet no one really cared about. Then, out of the blue, opportunity walks back into his life, only to draw the ground away from under him almost instantly.

He didn't know his own opinion on the empire.

Something of his thoughts must have been visible on his face or in the silence he kept.

Lorca leaned a little closer, bared his teeth, but his voice remained deceptively gentle.

"I'll tell you what I think. The empire, it's sick, rotting from the inside, morally corrupted, its current politics are unsustainable. It's going to fall apart in your lifetime."

He gave Tyler a moment to see if the description matched his own experience and whether he was able to accept the truth of it.

Lorca said, "The question you need to ask is if you want to go under with it. Captain Maddox certainly won't care. And as for your emperor, you're probably not even a statistic to her."

_Her,_ Tyler noted. Lorca knew the emperor so well, he knew she was a woman. Tyler heard rumours over the years, but he'd heard the same rumours of the opposite. It hadn't seemed to matter then, the emperor was more than human, _above_ them in any sense of the word, too great to be so mundanely defined. Yet, here stood someone for whom dealing with the emperor had been commonplace.

"But I'm sure I can find a place for you," Lorca said, a flick of his eyes at the milling soldiers around them, the open invitation to join them and… do what exactly? Lorca was just a fugitive, even if his prediction of the empire's inevitable demise was true, there was no guarantee he'd be the one who came out on top. _In your lifetime,_ Lorca had said, but that wasn't a very meaningful measurement when they all could be dead tomorrow.

Somewhere behind him, a woman raised her voice, mingled with Moreau's in some kind of argument, ripping into Tyler's thoughts and Lorca's small, self-contained world he'd created around them.

"Hey you!" Moreau shouted followed by footsteps and she stepped over Tyler, glaring into Lorca's face. "That's my prisoner! I never said you could talk to him!"

Before Tyler could even be confused by her tone, Lorca was on his feet. Springing from refined stillness into violence, he kicked the chair away behind him, sending it clattering loudly across the floor, bringing the commotions in the hall to an almost instant standstill.

Lorca wrapped his hand around Moreau's slender throat and dragged her back, momentarily out of Tyler's field of vision. When he struggled around, he saw Lorca had her pinned into a divider wall, forcing her up on her toes in his grip.

She kept on struggling, even went so far as to go for her dagger, but Lorca caught her wrist with his free hand without any apparent effort or even taking his gaze away. He twisted her wrist viciously and she dropped the weapon, wincing and going still, though her glare was still full of fire.

Tyler couldn't hear what she said, it was too low, an angry hiss that didn't carry.

Lorca's answer, however, composed despite the exertion just before, was clear as day. He said, "Oh, I am Gabriel Lorca. It just doesn't mean what you think it does."

He paused, kicked her dagger away with his foot before he eased his grip, letting her down.

"It doesn't matter, I'm the one calling the shots around here. If you don't like it, I'll just have to deal with you right here."

By then, the woman Tyler had seen earlier and now recognised as a scientist from the institute — Ferasini? He'd seen her at functions at the colonial offices a few times — had come up behind them.

"I was just explaining this to her," she said, tightly controlled anger directed at Moreau.

"Well, you fucked that up nicely," Lorca said, but with a small squeeze for emphasis, he released Moreau from his grip, but held his position right in front of her so she didn't quite know where to go or where to look.

Lorca arched an eyebrow at Moreau. "Your call," he said, the implications clear.

Tyler knew Moreau wasn't easily cowed, but he could tell she didn't quite dare challenge him again even though she looked like she wanted to.

"Marlena," Ferasini said. "Save your outrage for when you know the whole story, it's the best offer you'll get."

"Let Dr Culber set her straight," Lorca said and for some reason, Ferasini's expression darkened. She made no argument, though and Lorca nodded once in the casual assumption of a silent accord between them, then stepped back and turned around. Ferasini sent a baleful stare after him, then took the same look to Moreau. She made a gesture with her head and when Moreau didn't react immediately, Ferasini grabbed her upper arm and dragged her away. Moreau went with her after only a lacklustre show of resistance.

Lorca walked a small circle around Tyler as he returned to him, seemed to think for a moment, then walked further to the chair he'd kicked away before. He set it back up, but instead of taking it himself, he crouched down by Tyler and hauled him up and into the chair.

The world finally being a little more level, Tyler allowed himself a moment of deep breathing.

"I'm sure that scene didn't make any sense to you," Lorca said.

Tyler said, "Cadet Moreau doesn't respect anyone. It's her best and worst quality, really."

Lorca shook his head, "Ah, no, that's not what I meant."

Tyler watched him, still with that nagging sense of confusion at the back of his head. Something was clearly wrong here and not in the way he had any reason to expect.

Lorca said, "You see, her little outburst was entirely justified from her perspective. I am Gabriel Lorca, but I'm not the man you think. I was born in a parallel universe. The Captain Lorca you know and I switched places a few months ago after he attacked and destroyed my ship. Until recently, I was just another prisoner."

Tyler frowned, trying to wrap his mind around the concept and wondering if it was all some made-up story to deceive Lorca's enemies. It seemed entirely too ridiculous for that purpose, though.

"Why are you telling me this?" Tyler asked.

"Because you'd find out anyway," Lorca said. "Everything I said before is true. Your empire is failing, take it from an outsider who's never been brainwashed by your propaganda. You can help me and you'll get a chance to carve out a future for yourself, no matter what happens to the empire."

"What if I don't?"

A twitch at the corner of his mouth, Lorca said, "Can't get bogged down with prisoners and I'm not terran, I don't play with my victims. I'm merciful, I'll just kill you."

"At least I know where I stand," Tyler remarked, glanced down at himself and amused himself by adding, "Or sit, as the case may be. Thanks for that, by the way, it was getting demeaning down there."

Lorca bent his head a little, accepting the sardonic gratitude. Because he had relinquished the only nearby seat, he remained standing. In fact, the disparity between them had just shifted upward. Lorca was still looking down at him.

"I wonder," Tyler started, face as blank as he could make it, studying the other man's for any accidental change in expression. "If I actually believe you."

There was a twitch in the muscles along the side of his mouth. If anything, Tyler would have called it amusement, but it didn't go deep enough to be certain.

"It's just very convenient for you," Tyler said. "They've almost got you and here you are, not being… who you are."

"What have I got to gain?" Lorca asked softly. "You think your emperor would simply let me go?"

Tyler didn't exactly know what use a fake Lorca would be for the emperor, other than perhaps to make an example of him and declare Lorca dead for all the galaxy to see. If she wanted to help the real Lorca stay in hiding, of course, which didn't make any sense. The emperor wouldn't ever let him _go,_ but his uselessness to her probably just made his situation more dangerous.

There was an intricate power imbalance at play around here, far beyond Tyler's ability to comprehend after just a few minutes. If he took the other man's words at face value, then his position was as precarious as it could ever be. He had to have plans of his own, something beyond the scope of what the real Captain Lorca had in store. If he believed the claim, then this Lorca was completely unpredictable.

Lorca said, "I'll let you think it through. Don't take too long."

He left without giving Tyler a chance to question him further and left the commander sitting alone on that chair. His hands were still bound, but there was no guard he could detect. In fact, no one seemed to be paying him any attention at all, least of all, Lorca himself.

Shifting in his seat to find a somewhat more comfortable position, Tyler thought that for a man who had just professed at not playing with his victims, the set-up was commendably shrewd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I realise I've managed to get most of my plot stuck in a glorified garden shed. So I wrote a space battle to remind myself that this is supposed to be sci fi. I've never written one of those, please don't look too closely at the physics because they'll probably give you nightmares. Laws of nature deserve better. Otherwise, I hope it serves.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 02/February/2019_


	6. A Choice of Values

A data burst from the Buran cut the crisis meeting short. The metallic sound of guns scraping over the rough aluminium tabletop filled the half-enclosed room with a sudden rush of activity as the assembled soldiers re-armed themselves and went to get their units ready to move out within minutes.

Lorca had made them put all their weapons on the table before commencing with the meeting, a petty little power-play that might just as easily have backfired fatally, at least if Culber's blanching expression had been any indication. It had done its job, though, easing these people into the concept of taking orders which they might deem strange or impudent or downright insane. They _were_ going to do his bidding, every last one of them, Lorca wouldn't allow them to wriggle out of it.

When the men and women had left the background buzz of their activity faded away behind the divider walls, leaving only Lorca behind, with Culber facing him across the table and Balayna standing off to the side with Moreau. Lorca paid none of them any attention.

He dug the tip of his dagger into the palm of his gloved hand, then pulled down to leave a thin fissure in the leathery material. He brushed the flat of the blade over the cut to smooth it out and then watched as the material healed the minor damage as if it had never been.

The Buran had shown its teeth, it seemed. Had taken out both the Khumaro and the Tarleton, but had suffered damage nearly beyond recovery. They hadn't had the time nor the capability for more than the data burst they'd received, not enough bandwidth for more than a very short message and one their enemies almost certainly had picked up, too, though they might need a little time to decode it. Landry, or whoever else was now in command of the ship, would try to leg it back to Tarsus, bringing the Defiant with them. They couldn't stand and fight, though, not even for a moment, which meant their plan to take New Anchorage and the phaser banks had mere hours left to succeed.

Lorca wanted the Buran to start evacuating her crew to the planet's surface as soon as they arrived, giving him a few extra guns to hold the city while they blasted the Defiant out of the sky.

Lorca looked up and watched through the gaps in the walls as the men and women milled about. They were too far away to understand what they were saying, but their body language and facial expressions made their topics quite clear: Boasting about the atrocities they had already committed, comparing them to the ones they were looking forward to. There were too many eager grins on these faces, flexing hands on their guns and daggers. Not all of them had had a military background, though they all were well-versed in fighting. There were many erstwhile mercenaries and freelance assassins among them, former pit fighters and other unfree servants who had fought free of their imprisonment only to throw their lot in with just another tyrant, though, perhaps there was something to what Culber had said. Everyone got used by someone and the only power an individual could hold was to choose who was holding their leash. It didn't matter much which lies they told themselves to get through it.

Culber was watching his antics with the knife, doing his level best to appear as if it didn't bother him and Lorca wondered how long he could keep him hanging there, how much time he dared waste on such trivialities, just another meaningless power-play, like everything else in this forsaken universe.

"I want Tyler," Lorca said, looking up.

Starting to speak jostled Balayna, brought her back to the table like a dog whistle. She pulled out a chair to sit down, hands neatly folded in front of him, watching him with both halves of her face in the same expressionless stoniness.

Culber gave her a quick, questioning look, but frowned back at Lorca when he said, "Yeah, me too."

"He'll fly the gunship," Lorca said, caught Culber's gaze and dragged it along towards Moreau. "Take Cadet Moreau and release him. He's her prisoner, after all."

"What if he doesn't want to join up?"

"You kill him," Lorca said. He dug the tip of the knife into his palm again, this time rotating the knife like a drill, burrowing deep. "Or do you want me to do it?"

Culber was a laid-back man, but the last few hours had chipped away on his mood, chafed away the quick smiles on his face and the relaxed posture of his body. Bags were beginning to form under his eyes, frown lines creasing his forehead.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Culber said. "Tyler, I mean. We don't know much about him. He's not safe for you to be around."

Lorca considered smiling at the absurd implication and then decided not to. He said, "So who is safe for me to be around?"

Culber threw out his hands in a burst of exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Every-fucking-one else!"

"You mean my jailers?" Lorca asked. "Or are you volunteering yourself?"

"Soldiers trained to follow orders," Balayna supplied when Culber seemed momentarily lost for words.

The doctor gathered himself and said, "Tyler is probably just going to stick a knife in your back and drag you off to Maddox. What are you even thinking!"

Lorca just watched him, focussed more on the weight of the knife in his hand than on the doctor. The knife's sheath was nestled inside his right boot and though it fit smoothly to his calf, he couldn't shake the impression it was throwing off his balance when he walked. Balayna's expression had settled, though, seeing through him far too fast.

"Your opinion has been noted," Lorca said. "Tyler will fly the gunship." He tilted his head towards where Tyler was still sitting forlornly on the chair. "Get going."

"My opinion has been noted?" Culber repeated, voice beginning to tip into a shout. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

By then, Lorca had nearly managed to penetrate the glove, and the pressure he felt was slowly taking on a thin edge. He waited out Culber's outburst, let him think it through and realise he didn't have any other options left, because none of them really did. He looked as if he intended to argue the point anyway but then didn't.

"Whatever you say," Culber said, he still sounded strained, but much more like himself again. He got up, took a step towards Lorca around the table. Reaching out and opened his hand in Lorca's line of sight.

A tiny phial sat there, an injector needle nestled safely in a transparent covering. Lorca glanced from the pin to Culber.

"Shook troops use something they call Rush," Culber explained. "Kicks like a gorn berserker, but I can't really synthesise it with the equipment I've got here. So this is a much milder version I developed myself. Just gives you a little kick, sharpens the senses, but dulls pain, increases oxygen delivery to the brain and muscles, lowers inhibitions a bit. Pretty good stuff, and the best part, you barely crash after. Not much worse than you would anyway after an exertion."

"Lowers inhibitions," Lorca said almost to himself, sickened by the sudden sharp urge to reach for the pin and take its promise to protect him from his consciousness for what he was about to do.

Louder, he said, "What do you want me to do with it?"

For a moment it seemed like Culber was about to throw the pin at his face, but he just shrugged again and let the flare of anger fade away into annoyed resignation. He dropped the pin on the table and repeated, "Whatever you say."

He stepped away, lingered for another second, but then turned towards Moreau.

"Cadet," he said, cordially again. "Walk with me."

Lorca made a mental note of Moreau's quick look at Balayna for confirmation before she followed the doctor past the divider walls, leaving Lorca and Balayna in dubious, fleeting privacy.

Balayna had been keeping a careful distance from him in a good imitation of what constituted respect to these people. Having tried and failed to exploit his all too obvious vulnerability against him, she had withdrawn to observe him some more, a cat sitting back on its haunches and watching the mouse to better predict the next swat of its paw.

He'd been thinking about what she'd said, about him being afraid of her, but it wasn't quite the truth. He wasn't afraid of _her._ He was afraid of how she affected him. He couldn't trust his instincts around her. In every unguarded moment, a careless turn of his head, a swipe of his gaze, when he didn't have time to consciously _think,_ a sharp spike shot through him, seeing her standing there, as alive as she had ever been. Only to immediately remember who and what she was and that Balayna was still dead. He was afraid of how much he wanted to punish her, just because she wasn't the woman she should've been.

He was glad she most likely wouldn't try to get back into his bed because if she ever got close enough to touch again, he wasn't sure he wouldn't hurt her. It wasn't something he contemplated living with.

"Take it," she said, chin pointing at the pin. "It'll be a hard fight, no point in making it harder."

"I know what I'm doing," he said. The tiny crater he had made in his palm closed itself.

With a well-concealed sigh, he pushed himself from the table, set his right foot on the chair and sheathed the knife in his boot.

Balayna's gaze still rested on him, the mobile half of her face displaying an emotion somewhere between anger, disdain and mere exasperation. There was a hunger there, too, but it wasn't anything he could help her with. She, like him, would just have to find a way to deal.

He straightened and zipped the jacket up, surprised when the material closed high around his throat without any apparent discomfort. Even the back of the collar, pulled high enough to support the base of his skull didn't seem to hinder his freedom of movement at all.

It shouldn't be unexpected that this universe exceeded his own in the sophistication of armour and weaponry, given their warlike and expansionist nature. For a fleeting second, he wondered if it would be possible to take some of it home with him. Certainly, it might just be the edge the Federation needed in the conflict with the klingons. Then, of course, he remembered he probably wasn't going to go home at all, no matter how he still told himself it was his ultimate goal. He didn't have the means to go home, let alone take anything of value with him. And even if, would he even _want_ to taint his universe with anything at all that had come out of the Terran Empire's blood-drenched history?

He ignored Balayna as well he could and stepped outside the wall to survey the hall.

A young man walked into his trajectory and Lorca barked, "Hey," tone infused by the irritation he felt at being unable to address the man by his name. He reached out and grabbed his upper arm to stop him. The young man's reaction was immediate and lightning fast, he shook free of the grip and twisted around, fist already swinging. He'd have landed that blow because he was too close and for all his alertness, Lorca would've been fast enough to retaliate, but not fast enough to block. Instead, the young man stopped himself, his raised fist hovering awkwardly in the air before he dropped it by his side, staring at Lorca in abject shock.

Lorca tilted his head back, arched one, questioning eyebrow and waited for the young man to gather his wits, take a step back and give the sharpest salute Lorca had ever witnessed.

"I need a set of weapons and armour for Commander Tyler," Lorca said.

"I'll get it," the young man said, blinked in another moment of uncertainty, then added, "Sir."

Lorca didn't move, so the man wasn't quite sure if he was already dismissed or if his rash action would still have consequences.

Lorca said, "What is your name?"

Some quickly hidden part of the man squirmed, knowing better than Lorca himself how very unhealthy it could be to attract the wrong kind of attention from just the wrong person, but he knew better than to make his situation worse by hesitating. "Romeo Zhang, sir."

Lorca nodded and knew he looked like he was edging the soldier's name and face into his memory for all eternity. He _had_ always made it a point to know the people under his command. His subordinates had always been divided on whether this was a good thing or not, since he had a habit of holding each and everyone responsible for their decisions and mistakes. He believed it kept them on their toes and their head in the game and he saw no reason why it wouldn't work the same way here, possibly even more so.

"See to it," Lorca said, finally dismissing the man and walking past him.

* * *

Culber walked across the hall with Cadet Moreau striding alongside him. He was doing his level best not to show his annoyance at being saddled with her. She had been Ferasini's recruit right from the start, two of a kind, Culber had always thought. Too smart, too pretty and too ambitious, which only spelt trouble for pretty much everyone around them. Lorca's attempt to split them up was a valiant effort, but Culber doubted it would lessen the damage the two women could do. It'd just double it. 

To combat his foul mood, Culber told himself that he was backing the right man with Lorca. It didn't serve his own best interests to undermine the leadership he had so naturally assumed and he had trouble figuring out why Ferasini was quite so adamant to go against him. She was hardly dumb enough to jeopardise her own survival just because her sexual advances hadn't — apparently — worked as she had expected them to. Personally, Culber was a great fan of _willing_ partners, everything else was just too much like work.

Besides and above everything else, there was no way Ferasini could really believe she was going to replace Lorca. If Landry returned and was still in one piece, the leadership would fall to her, as Captain Lorca's right hand and close confidante. Though, at this point, they didn't even know if she was still alive.

Culber had been keeping an ear to the ground, paying attention to what the soldiers being beamed down from the base were saying — and _not_ saying. He was the doctor, after all, with the painkillers and the little happy pins to hand out. People had a habit of getting chatty with him. It had come as a relief to learn that most people were just glad someone had taken the reins and was giving them orders and the promise for a decent fight to die in. Of course, they knew Lorca wasn't the real deal, but it hardly seemed to matter apart from a little grumbling bewilderment. Most of it was owned to Lorca himself, the way he carried himself, his commanding voice and the underlying reassurance he portrayed. He had done a good job of setting himself up as the unexpectedly imposing centre of the storm with everything revolving around him, even if grudgingly.

All that made Culber wonder what it would be like to really serve under Captain Lorca. What would he do, if he was with them right now? Would his brilliance be giving them a different set of orders? Just how deep — or shallow for that matter — did the differences between the two men run?

"I don't get it," Moreau said, tearing Culber from his not very useful speculation.

Culber gave her a smile. "There's nothing to _get_. We play the hand we've been dealt."

"But he's…"

Mildly, Culber interrupted, "Yes? What is he? A prisoner? Hardly. Weak? Not really." He paused for a moment to let it sink in. "A usurper? Sounds like Captain Lorca to me all right."

"It's wrong," Moreau insisted inadequately, pouting.

"It's survival, my dear cadet. Chances are Lorca will be dead when this is over, which solves the problem pretty much to everyone's dissatisfaction. But it's nothing we have to worry about right now."

Moreau had quite obviously expected him to agree to her position and when it wasn't forthcoming she looked deeply unhappy. Culber wondered what Ferasini had been saying on the same topic.

"Cadet?" Culber prompted. He wasn't going to let her off the hook quite so easily. "You got what I'm saying here?"

Chewing on her lower lip, she hesitated, but then said, "I see your point."

"Good, make sure you remember it when it counts."

Commander Tyler still sat alone on the chair in the middle of an empty space, out of the way of where people were hastily finishing up the assembly of the buggies. He was being almost completely ignored, except for the occasional quick look of passersby. He tilted his head at Culber when he spotted him, face oddly serene, giving nothing at all away. He had sharp eyes, though, missing nothing of what was going on around him, filing the raw data away for when he might be able to make use of it.

Moreau broke away from Culber's side to pace a predatory circle around Tyler's back which the young commander pointedly failed to acknowledge.

"Is it true?" Tyler asked.

Not many things he could be talking about.

"Completely true," Culber said, tone careless in the face of what should've been an enormous revelation, but it lost some of its impact after a while.

"Where is Captain Lorca?"

Culber gave him a toothy grin. "How would I know? And even if I knew, why would I tell you?"

"To convince me."

"Aren't you just full of yourself," Culber shrugged.

Tyler paused for a moment, let his gaze drift around the room, turning his head just slightly to catch a glimpse of Moreau's pacing behind him. He said, "Your other Lorca, he offered me a place with you. Does it even count?"

Culber smiled, "Depends on what you want, really. Captain Lorca is going to take the Empire and rebuild it. You want a place in it?" Culber spread out his arms. "You have it."

"It's that simple? Why would you trust me?"

"No one said anything about 'trust', my friend, don't be stupid. You'll fight for us, you'll risk your life for us, and you've got your place. That's what's simple."

Culber fixed on Moreau over Tyler's shoulder and kept smiling warmly. "And besides, Cadet Moreau is going to vouch for you."

Moreau had a moment of looking entirely furious, too clever for her own good. With one simple sentence, Culber had tied her loyalty to Tyler's, making it that much more difficult for her to veer off in a direction she shouldn't be going.

But she worked through her anger and took up the part Culber had forced her to play.

"Yeah, he's got no one in the Empire left who'd take him," she said.

She gave him an ungentle shove and said, "Get up, I'll untie you."

Culber nodded his assent, in case she needed it and because Tyler shouldn't get any lofty ideas about his rank in the pecking order.

When Moreau was finished untying Tyler, the young commander got to his feet, shaking out his limbs and stretching limberness back into them, surveying the hall once again. He stopped, briefly, and when Culber swivelled to the side, so he caught sight of Lorca crossing the room in their direction, Ferasini and Leighton behind him.

"What happened?" Tyler asked, addressing no one in particular, but he'd waited until Lorca was at least in ear-shot.

Lorca didn't answer, only studied Tyler in silence with an intensity that made Culber vaguely glad he was standing off to the side of it. He had been paying attention to Lorca, too, reading between the lines of his silences and the minuscule twitches of the muscles in his face, the curl of disdain of his mouth and flare of his nostrils.

Movement caught Culber's eye, some discord in the general activity he couldn't figure out until he saw a young man hurry towards them, package hugged to his chest which turned out to be a set of body armour once he got close enough. With his hands full, he couldn't salute but stood to attention sharply, body turned towards Lorca before he handed the armour off to Tyler. He swung the second carbine from his shoulder and handed it over, too.

Lorca flicked his gaze at him, scrutinised him in the same eerie silence. When Lorca looked back at Tyler, the young man saluted, nodded at Culber, then hurried away.

Privately, Culber felt a little sorry for having missed whatever had gone down to make this one act the way he had. Culber thought it might have been rather educational.

Meanwhile, Tyler made no attempt to put the armour on, though he slipped his fingers smoothly into place on the carbine. Culber tensed and noticed everyone around him— except Lorca himself — do the same.

Tyler said, "What happened?"

He almost hit the same tone as before, but the two words came out more clipped and a little louder.

Lorca kept him hanging for another heartbeat longer, but finally asked, "Can you get the gunship past New Anchorage's automated defences?"

"The containment field isn't strong enough to stop us flying through," Tyler answered immediately. "Avoiding the turrets is going to take some work, but they're meant for crowd control, lots of splash damage, but not enough concerted fire to penetrate the gunship's shields, all we've got to do is keep moving."

Lorca nodded, taking in the information and fitting it in the plan he had already made. He had been free about his considerations during the talk earlier, laying out their next moves as clearly and plainly as possible. He wasn't going to allow someone to accidentally ruin everything. Terran commanders usually were more reticent with these things, jealous of the possibility some other officer could benefit to their detriment.

"The colonial offices," Lorca said. "Have a landing pad on the roof?"

"A docking tower," Tyler corrected. "To get into the building there's a lift or an outside ladder."

Lorca scowled at the unwelcome divergence but left it uncommented.

"You'll pilot the gunship," Lorca told Tyler. "And watch my back inside the building."

Culber shifted away from the little circle and stepped to Ferasini's side, who greeted him with an arched, sceptical eyebrow on the uninjured side of her face. They said nothing to each other, though, not with so many unsuitable ears listening.

Lorca looked them over, then glanced around the wider hall, where the buggies and other soldiers were almost ready to move out. A tense, waiting silence was slowly taking over the hectic activity from before.

"Leighton, Moreau," Lorca said, fixing on the two of them. "I want you in vanguard. You know the city better than anyone."

Leighton nodded, his fist to his chest, without saying anything. Moreau's execution was much sloppier, still with that quick look at Ferasini to check her approval. Culber sighed inwardly and said nothing.

Lorca gestured at the gunship with his head and Tyler fell into step behind him, putting the last of his weapons away in their sheaths and holsters.

Watching Lorca scale the gunship ahead of Tyler, Culber turned to Ferasini and said, "Should I get working on a batch of custom analgesics? Makes booth time much less… boothy."

"That's not a word," Ferasini pointed out, sounding far too bored for it to be anything but an act. "And you've been championing him since the very beginning. If it was a mistake, it's too late now."

"Oh, so you're not scared of the agony booth?" Culber drawled sarcastically.

"It's just pain," she said.

"Yes, exactly!"

Culber sucked in a deep breath, gestured towards the gunship.

"So what's that thing with Tyler?"

Ferasini laughed mirthlessly. "He wants Tyler."

"I know what he _said,"_ Culber snapped. "But I was really asking what sort of plan he could be cooking up by running that — entirely unnecessary — risk."

Ferasini gave him a 'how can you be so dense' look which Culber didn't very much appreciate. But before he had decided if it was worth getting worked up about, Ferasini answered.

"Tyler is the only one without any set loyalty. We're all already sworn to someone else. But Tyler? He doesn't know yet who he wants to support. He's potentially Lorca's only real ally."

Culber thought on it, sighed and said, "What a mess."

Ferasini laughed again. "You knew that when you signed up for it."

"Did I?" Culber asked lightly. "Must have been my dick thinking."

"That's usually its own punishment."

It didn't matter to Culber that he was the one who had started down that line of reasoning — or that this Lorca certainly wasn't done with his flimsy connection to Paul Stamets — Ferasini really had no high ground of her own.

"You're one to talk," Culber snorted.

The humour, thin and dry as it had been, instantly left Ferasini's expression, final proof that whatever had been going on between her and Lorca hadn't turned out nearly as satisfying as it had sounded like.

"I guess its a pity you don't have any basis for comparison," Culber continued. "I'm a little curious how this one compares with our captain…"

In the hall, the soldiers had finished assembling and Lorca strode to the gunship, easily scaling the ladder to the cockpit, but stepping past it to stand over it so everyone could clearly see him.

At Ferasini's angry silence, Culber sniggered and said nothing more, considering them even on this particular topic.

On top of the gunship, Lorca raised his voice to make it carry across the hall.

"Commander Landry and the Buran have given a four-hour window in which to take New Anchorage, arm the phaser banks and blow the ISS Defiant out of the sky. We don't have enough vehicles to move everyone, so an advance force will take New Anchorage's public transporters, disable the scattering field and beam the rest of you over, but your primary targets are the phaser banks. Whoever gets to the phaser banks targets the Defiant. Don't wait for orders, don't hesitate, do what's necessary." He paused to look them over, flashed his teeth in a wide, vicious grin. "I know you will. Let's get it done."

The responses among the assorted soldiers were muted, a few cheers here and there, salutes by many and curt nods by those who felt this Lorca didn't quite deserve the sign of respect just yet, though none of them had dared to deny it to his face.

Lorca stepped back and climbed into the gunship while the soldiers sorted themselves into the buggies. At the other end of the hall, the great gate screeched open.

It wasn't a bad speech, Culber noted. Name-checked Landry and the Buran, outlined their targets unambiguously and played to their convictions. All that, and not a peep of trying to defend his questionable identity so no one was tempted to remember who was — and who was _not_ — giving the orders. Ferasini huffed and pulled an annoyed face, so Culber took it she agreed with his assessment.

* * *

Not all of the buggies are already assembled and a good two-thirds of the amassed soldiers have to stay behind and wait until their comrades take the transporters in New Anchorage and bring them in. Or until their first push fails and they all die or scramble back to a completely indefensible position. 

Even so, the buggies leave spill through the great, rusted gate and out into the open, breaking through the endless fields with no care and no regard for the crops' value. They were a swarm of locusts, destroying and devouring everything in their way.

Before, when they fled New Anchorage, they dodged about the countryside, seeking to lose any pursuers, though perhaps there hadn't been any. Now, they the movement is on the direct route and New Anchorage sat waiting under the flimsy gossamer of a containment shield, bared to its attackers like a civilian in a war-zone, wielding a kitchen knife, and no help was coming.

Tarsus IV was a planet on the very edge of populated space, on the outer edges of a void. The next starbase was weeks away and automated, unmanned cargo freighters crawl along their routes with no consequence for the conflict. It had always been Tarsus' tragedy, the perfect setup for disaster, waiting to happen in the serene beauty of an agricultural planet and its rich soil.

* * *

Tyler used to fly patrols in the gunship along with his subordinates. It had always been a matter of pride for him, doing his part alongside the others. He knew enough commanders who preferred to set themselves up as wannabe lords, content in keeping court in their tiny, rotten part of the Empire, letting their soldiers serve them as slaves as they allowed their minds to lose their edge and descend into god complex madness and suicidal complacency. These never lasted long, of course. Tyler's predecessor had been one of those, dispatched mere days after Tyler's transfer to Tarsus. 

He knew the gunship controls, he could have flown it in his sleep, so when the hatch closed and blocked out the bustle, he had time and the mental freedom to study the man next to him at comparative leisure.

It was a difficult equation to solve, with too many unknowns involved, but moreover, too many factors that _seemed_ knowns, but weren't. Every officer learned early how to always be ready for an attack, how to always calculate the best trajectory of defence from an ambitious subordinate or a jealous superior. And the cockpit of the gunship was a narrow, enclosed space, evening out what might have been this or that advantage. Tyler was taller than Lorca, younger by a substantial number of years.

Tyler had fought Lorca in the simulations, but he would be the first to admit these weren't terribly useful to gauge his true capabilities. He would be better served if he based his assessment on what he could see. So, not as tall, but heavier-set. Not as young, but the Captain Lorca Tyler knew of had spent thirty years in the upper echelons of the Terran Empire, there wasn't a sign of ageing he would have to suffer unless he wanted it. There was no indication modern science hadn't advanced to the same level where this man was from. He had been imprisoned for some time, possibly enough to erode some of his strength and stamina. Possibly also, however, imprisonment had replaced what it took with sheer willpower.

Tyler watched Lorca's hands from the corner of his eyes, as the other man settled them on the console and rapidly scrolled through the gunship comm setup. He seemed perfectly oblivious to Tyler's considerations, none of his weapons within easy reach in the confined space.

There was a part of the equation too many people forgot about. It wasn't _just_ what your opponent might do to you, or you to him. It was also a question of what you did once you subdued them. How many favours could he buy with a Lorca from another universe? Surely he would be worth _something_ to the emperor? Or to Maddox? Whatever private feud he had with Lorca, having a flesh-and-blood man to try his fantasies out on would hold its allure.

"You're sizing me up," Lorca said suddenly and although his tone was mild, the observation itself was a whiplash and it was all Tyler could do not to flinch.

He wasn't sure what response the other man expected, but Lorca offered his explanation without prompting. He said, "You all do that, all the time, with everyone. Even if you aren't planning to attack, you're always looking for weaknesses to exploit."

Tyler frowned. "Of course," he said slowly.

Lorca snorted a laugh, dry like parchment. "I don't understand how you can exist like that. Are you ever _not_ afraid?"

"That's…" Tyler started and stopped himself. "That's bullshit. I'm not afraid. I've never been."

"Then you're either an idiot or a liar," Lorca muttered, sarcasm thick in his tone.

A message flared up on the screen, but the angle wasn't right for Tyler to read it, but it made Lorca frown and pull the keyboard out to type faster.

"What is it you want?" Tyler asked, trying not to smart at being called an idiot.

Even in profile, Tyler was fairly sure Lorca raised only one eyebrow, then canted his head to the side slightly to proof it.

"I want to go home," he said with an intensity Tyler could feel hovering in the tight space of the cockpit.

"And I want to find your _Captain Lorca_ and rip his throat out with my bare hands."

He narrowed his eyes. "Is that sufficiently savage for your tastes?"

"Maybe, but is it true?"

The computer chirped and announced it had established a connection. Lorca looked away.

The message on the screen disappeared and was replaced with the face of a man. He looked like he hadn't slept well, seemingly stifled by the high, tight collar of his civilian clothing. Tyler recognised him as a clerk in the colonial administration and wished he had spent more time learning how to tell these faceless, bureaucratic minions apart. They had always been around en masse when he'd gone to meet with the council or the governor.

"Mr Kodos," Lorca said and there was a sneer in his voice. "Give me a quick report of what's been going on."

Kodos hesitated for only the barest of seconds, gaze flicking to the side as it searching for someone to corroborate Lorca's command and finding no one because the transmission would be restricted to just Lorca's face.

"Well, Lieutenant Commander Markannen has taken over as military commander. She has conscripted civilian police and private security forces and has been calling in support from across the planet. The governor has declared a state of emergency, everyone is confined to their homes. There's a standing shoot to kill order in the event of non-compliance."

Markannen was one of Captain Maddox's officers, the natural choice to take charge in the near-complete breakdown of leadership Tarsus' military complement had suffered after Leighton's desertion and Tyler's own disappearance.

"We need to take the scattering field down and take control of the public transporters," Lorca said. "How would we do that?"

"In a state of emergency, public transporters are shut down. All offensive and defensive systems are locked to military command."

"Where I'm from the governor has an override," Lorca said.

"Well, yes," Kodos said.

"Fill me on the system of succession, what would someone need to do to become governor?"

Kodos frowned even harder, but Tyler had already an idea where this might be going.

Kodos said, "The governor is elected by the council of mayors and officials, or appointed by a representative of the emperor. Uh, what do you want to know?"

For a moment, Lorca lifted his gaze to watch the tactical display adding information to the otherwise empty sky around the cockpit.

"How far away from the top-spot are you?"

"I'm a council member's aide," Kodos spoke very slowly as if he had trouble remembering his own resume. "If she dies by my hand, I'm eligible to take her seat. If I kill the governor _and_ the remaining council supports me, I could take the governor's seat. But…"

His eyes widened, staring at Lorca through the screen. "I'm alone and I have no time. If that's what you're asking of me, I may as well kill myself right here."

Lorca made a dismissive wave at the screen. "Don't make promises you won't keep. I'll help you."

"I sure hope the council is in session," Tyler muttered. 

"You heard that?" Lorca asked Kodos.

For the first time, Kodos' face relaxed somewhat. "They are in session, yes."

"Fish in a barrel," Lorca said with a grimace.

"But the whole building is swarming with security forces," Kodos pointed out. "I can unlock the docking bay on the tower from here, but you'll have to fight your way to Ribiero Hall."

Lorca gave Tyler another look, a small, unpleasant smile curling the corner of his mouth. Tyler wondered if this might be the answer to the question he'd asked before.

Lorca took the vicious expression back at Kodos and, through bared teeth, said, "I'm going to make you governor, Kodos."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering why this chapter took so long? It's because this chapter sucked so much I had to scrap it _twice_ and start from scratch. In other words, I wrote three chapters' worth of story. That's why it took so long. I'm also not entirely sure this version actually sucks less and I couldn't come up with a good title.
> 
> I make no promises about the next chapter, either. I'm sorry.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 02/February/2019_


	7. Trojan Horse Race

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait yet again. Have a naked Lorca as compensation.

Well ahead of the buggies, the gunship reached New Anchorage to an opening salvo of the city's crowd-control phasers. Tyler took the gunship into a series of evasive manoeuvres that minimised the overall number of impacts and although the gunship shuddered when they suffered a hit, its shields barely depleted despite the consistent battering. Breaking through the scattering field was barely a noticeable, additional tremble and Tyler swept the gunship close over the rooftops, where they made a bad target for the phasers, though still trailing a path of dusty clouds behind them, from the phasers hitting buildings in their wake.

Although they were taking the most direct route to the colonial offices building, Lorca settled his fingers on the gun controls and leaned into the targeting ring as it lowered around his head, allowing him a full view around the gunship. The set-up wasn't entirely familiar to him, but the basic principle never changed with these things and it was far better than the mining laser he had been forced to use before.

The gunship's weapons spun smoothly on their two axes around the ship, compensating instantly for any sudden movement the pilot made. He targeted the pylons of the scattering field, the firing phasers, anything he got within range. Sensors picked up and alerted him to a patrol of armed security forces outside a tall spire building he identified as one of the ground-to-orbit phaser banks. He didn't want to risk hitting the phaser itself, he still had a use for that, but taking out the ground forces would be a plus.

The targeting system picked up the movement of his eyes and locked on them and by then, he trusted the system's precision. Two sharp shots seared into the two people before they even had a chance to dive for cover, their bodies vaporised into a smear of nothing but black soot against the base of the building.

"Colonial offices have polarised the docking tower and roof," Tyler announced. Even as he spoke, the building came into view, sitting peacefully and oversized on the grassy slope inside a park. It looked very much like Lorca's memory of it, though it had a second, central spire and the dome of its central structure was larger and a little broader.

"We can't dock?"

Tyler snarled at his own controls. "We can _land_ , but we can't attach docking clamps or open the doors. Wasn't Kodos supposed to keep the way clear?"

In his mind, Lorca spun through several scenarios of why Kodos would've been unable to keep his end. Maybe he had betrayed them to the governor, fearing Lorca wasn't going to deliver on his promise. Perhaps the coward had got cold feet and gone into hiding or he had been stupid enough to get himself caught. He could be already dead for all Lorca know… Something almost like disappointment welled up in his throat at the thought, quickly pushed away before he was lured into examining it further.

"Get us close, I'll blast the doors open," Lorca said. "We can jump over."

"Shame to lose the gunship," Tyler said.

Lorca agreed, but said, "Does it have an autopilot?"

"Yes," Tyler said, with another short glance at the man next to him, studying his face, though the targeting ring hid his eyes entirely and his expression was cooly composed.

"This Commander Markannen, where will she have set up her command base?"

"Military compound, obviously," Tyler said. "Nothing else makes sense."

"Let the gunship crash into it," Lorca said.

"The command centre is reinforced," Tyler said.

He flew the gunship close to the docking tower to allow Lorca to target it.

"Doesn't matter," Lorca said. "It'll hurt someone who deserves it."

He paused for a moment to focus on his shot. He needed to be more careful than even when taking out the guards because he didn't want to damage the tower interior and potentially block their own way down. He considered just blasting through the roof, but while that certainly would have been an entrance worthy of a terran, he wasn't willing to discard the smarter tactic for it.

Nevertheless, the gunship's shot punched the docking door inward, took out the doorway and ripped a gaping hole into the side of the tower. Lorca zoomed in with the targeting system, waited a moment until the dust had cleared.

"Should do," he concluded.

"Embrasures along the roof," Tyler announced. "Got a bit of resistance going."

Carbine fire cut upward towards the gunship along hidden embrasures on the edge of the roof. As Tyler backed the gunship away from the tower, Lorca swiped a glanced over them, letting the targeting system pick out the opponents, then fixed on the one the system hadn't picked up. Without needing any prompting, Tyler took up his part and flew the gunship low over them, allowing Lorca to target the narrow ridge with one, concerted beam. There was some shielding above the embrasures, but they were close enough to penetrate it, causing several explosions to eat downward into the building.

Unfortunately, they were close enough for the carbines to do the same. One of the shots hit a bull's eye, right into the muzzle of one the gunship's weapons. Alert sirens blared up and the gunship rocked sideways before Tyler stabilised it. 

Lorca compartmentalised the damaged gun, cutting it off from its energy source before it could overload the other guns or even the gunship's engines. The shot had damaged the axis, though, and it screeched as Lorca tried to rotate it again, a warning flaring up along the display in front of his eyes.

He dismissed the warning and said, "Two more rounds, should thin them out enough that we can get out."

The more they killed now, the fewer of them they would have to deal with once they would be on the ground, after all. Lorca didn't say it aloud, Tyler hardly needed the explanation.

By the time they were done, the roof of the colonial offices was scattered with debris, smoke and flames licking upward from broken embrasures, but no more fire was offered at the gunship.

A short respite, no doubt. Lorca disengaged the targeting system and blinked, once, to adjust to his normal vision. He watched as Tyler programmed the autopilot and set it to kick in after a slight delay to make sure they could get off the ship, then angled the gunship next to the tower. Little sparks jumped between the gunship's shields and the tower's polarisation and Tyler steered into the mounting pressure to get them as close as possible, leaving a good two-metre gap for them.

With the carbine safely over his shoulder, but the phaser drawn, Tyler climbed out of the cockpit first.

They were so high up, the wind tugged on them the moment they left the gunship. The gap in the tower had cleared enough to vaguely make out the floor beyond and to calculate a jump. No security had congealed there yet and Tyler didn't hesitate. He took the two steps of space he had on the gunship and leapt across, landing smoothly and rolling back to his feet into the shadowed insides of the tower.

Lorca took a moment longer, standing up on top of the gunship to survey the city around him. Unlike the shielded confines of the gunship, out in the open, New Anchorage was neither deserted nor quiet. Sirens howled off in the distance, he guessed in response to the first buggies breaching the outer perimeters. The crackle and snap of the scattering field above them, distorting the bright blue sky. Phaser fire cut through the air in between the city streets, from the automated systems or security patrols. Thin lines of smoke rose up here and there, marking their progress of before or where some minor riot had been prevented from spilling out.

Despite himself, Lorca found his gaze tracking across the city, looking for familiar features, unsure whether finding them would make it better or worse.

"What are you waiting for?" Tyler called from the opening

Lorca turned his head to look at him, took a step back, gathered what speed he could and jumped across.

He caught a mouthful of dust as he landed, choked on a cough, then snarled it away. Tyler was already climbing down the bent ladder that followed the elevator shaft in a downward spiral. Lorca stayed to watch the gunship drop away from the tower and follow its programmed path across the city, dodging on some evasive pattern as it went, its guns targetting on their own anything it picked up. Death had come back to Tarsus IV. The vile symmetry of it should make him gag, Lorca thought.

He didn't watch the gunship's impact.

* * *

Despite feeling uncomfortably self-conscious after their earlier exchange, Tyler was still sizing Lorca up. Even if he had been found out, it was the prudent thing to do, next to a man whose convictions and goals came from an entirely different universe. Lorca stood tall on top of the gunship, effortlessly holding his balance even as the gunship shook in the wind. He took a little too long for Tyler's taste, who knew the security forces in the building were already on the way to their location. 

The bright sunlight didn't seem to bother Lorca as he swept his gaze across the city, spread out below and all around them, he looked like he was searching for something.

Holstering the phaser, Tyler made his way through the ruined entrance room and to the lift. The door had impacted it when it had blown inward, dented the surface and bent the doors away from their frames. The lift itself was almost certainly still functional, and Tyler tried to decide whether it was worth risking it.

He returned to the gap and called for Lorca, impatience and incomprehension warring to colour his tone. He got out of the way to allow Lorca some space and to give himself a better view of him, still looking for treacherous weaknesses, if only so he could help defend him in an ally.

Lorca caught a mouthful of the still settling dust as he rolled back to his feet — a little less elegantly as himself, Tyler judged — and choked on a cough as he came back up. He growled a curse and wiped his mouth, found Tyler's gaze and nodded some silent confirmation.

"The lift can take us down to the right level in twenty seconds," Tyler said. "We should risk it."

Making an offer, rather than simply giving a command, grated somewhere at the back of Tyler's throat even as he said it. What grated more was that it had barely required any conscious thought. He'd bow and scrape for anyone with the power to make him, but this was different. No one _made_ him do anything. Lorca had no agoniser, no chain of command to support him. Neither, of course, had Tyler, entirely untethered from the life he'd known. It occurred to him, rather belatedly, that he was a traitor now. And his only chance to buy himself back in would be the head of an imposter. One he wasn't even sure he could take.

It wasn't a gamble he was willing to take just yet. And besides, there was a chance Lorca would succeed and if he did, it'd be a triumph like few others. Tyler wasn't going to deny himself the chance to be part of it.

Lorca stepped to the lift and tried the door controls, though they chimed the expected denial. Lorca sighed and pulled the knife from his boot, wedged it into the gap of the door.

"Help me," Lorca said before Tyler even had a chance to react.

They got the doors to open with sheer force. Once inside the cabin, Tyler overrode the door command, so it didn't try and fail to close the doors.

The lift slid smoothly into motion and in the short respite, Tyler swung the carbine from his shoulder, watching Lorca do the same.

Tyler said, "Can you actually fight?"

"Little late to ask," Lorca said.

He stepped to the side of the open door, finding a narrow nook of cover.

Unhappy with the flippant reply, Tyler pulled a face and said, "I expect you to be at least competent, but other than that, is there something I should know?"

He took up position on the other side of the door. He felt the first, slight rush as the lift decelerated, knew they were seconds away.

"There's nothing you should know," Lorca said, the pointed echo in his words making his underlying meaning quite clear. He was going to keep his weaknesses private.

The lift reached the council floor, putting an instant stop to the conversation when the first shot blasted through the open door and hit the back of the cabin. Tyler locked eyes with Lorca, not quite sure himself what he was waiting for until Lorca gave the slightest nod, got the carbine ready and stepped out into the open, already firing.

It was, Tyler decided, better than a verbal answer to his original question. Lorca could keep his secrets about his shortcomings and deeply-buried weaknesses, because, yes, he could _actually_ fight. In the first, frenzied moments after leaving the shelter of the lift, Tyler had no time to observe him, however.

Outside the lift, a hallway stretched on, branching off into different areas of the building. Decorative pillars and statues set in niches along the way, portraying heroes of the settlement of Tarsus, but they were shot to dust as stray energy rays burst them apart. The niches themselves, the fragile pillars, offered little cover and Lorca made no attempt to use them as such for more than a few seconds. He kept pushing forward, Tyler keeping pace on his side of the hallway until their enemies' numbers began to thin.

Tyler stole a longer glance at his companion, caught a glimpse of the stony focus of his expression and the cool calculation as he placed every single shot. And there was the other promise on display, the one Lorca had made to Tyler, not so long ago. The reality of it mesmerising in its own, terrifying way: Lorca killed. He didn't wound or injure, he didn't bother to just take an opponent out of the fight. His aim was for their heads, their faces, the exposed gap above the protective collar on their necks. Against such overwhelming numbers, Tyler hadn't cared, as long as someone was down, he wasted no time, but Lorca was meticulous in his aim and so did not _need_ to clean up after himself and finish off the ones he'd left half-done.

In a moment of jealousy mixed with awe, Tyler thought of the trail of his own sloppy kills left in the corridor, some of them still moaning and moving about.

"Keep moving!" Lorca barked at Tyler, sensing his distraction despite his own preoccupation. Tyler left the dying to do their business. Slitting throats was a job for when the fight was won, it was an indulgence in the middle of it he had no time for.

Inevitably, their forward push stalled. They reached a crossroads of hallways and the guards rushed them from three directions at once, Tyler counted at least twenty in that first moment with more behind them. The hallways funnelled them somewhat, giving Tyler and Lorca a chance to shoot or cut them down one by one, but they were still not making any advances.

At some point, Tyler ran out of charge for the carbine and out of time to replace it, so he resorted to using it as a bludgeoning weapon for a while, then shouldered it and used his phaser and dagger instead. There was something viscerally more satisfying to getting close to an enemy before killing him, something intimate and although Tyler had barely any time to focus on it, the intimacy of it was always there.

"Tyler!" Lorca shouted and Tyler found a momentary break in the onslaught to look at the other man, watching as he stabbed his knife into the side of a guard's neck and used the handle to throw him out of the way, a gesture that seemed almost casual.

Lorca dipped to the side, avoided a stab at his own neck and took the blade scraping along the armoured length of his arm, harmlessly. Two small, silver balls flashed in Lorca's fingers, just in time for Tyler to know what was going to happen and to experience a wave of gratitude for the warning.

Lorca tossed the two grenades down two separate hallways and Tyler threw himself around just as the cruel white light cut away the outlines of reality itself. Despite the warning and the way he had shielded his eyes, Tyler braced for the moment of immobility and blindness, while the splotches of white turned to painful neon colours, obscuring his vision. He kept himself on the defensive, as he had learned, fighting on instinct and the certainty that anyone he touched was an enemy because Lorca was well away from him.

Temporarily blinded, his hearing picked up minute details and told him the scuffle had already picked up again, roughly in the direction where Lorca had been. He heard the hissing of his phaser, the groan and shriek of people being stabbed without seeing it coming. Someone, some terran he guessed, was shouting orders at the back of the corridor.

Someone came at Tyler snarling and he stabbed his elbow back into them, snapped his head back as they bent forward, then twisted to fire a shot at their side, close enough the energy beam cut right through the layer of armour and burned the flesh beneath. He heard a woman's wheezing scream and gave her a kick so she dropped away from him.

His vision began to clear, and he blinked irritably at the blotches still obscuring his view. What he saw of the hallway was drastically changed. Lorca had used the chance to do as much damage to their attackers as he possibly could, leaving scores of them strewn in a circle around him and along the hallways where his phasers had found them.

What remained of the guards had retreated further back, taking cover and reverting to shooting at them again. Lorca flattened his back against the wall as he released the lock on his phaser's empty charge and let it drop by his feet. Some stray punch had split his lip at some point and the thin line of blood down his chin made him look entirely feral.

"Looks like they're running out of cannon fodder," he remarked.

Tyler had hoped this would happen but hadn't dared think about it too loudly. Commander Markannen was working with limited material, the private guards hired by various council members and other security forces in the city, people who might have had military training, but weren't good enough to cut it, so they left for easier work. Their numbers were limited and Markannen would by now be dealing with the attack on the scattering field emitters and the phaser banks as well, she didn't have enough people to send reinforcements.

"This way," Tyler said, nodding at the hallway that would take them to the council chamber. "Kodos better be there."

As it turned out, Kodos was waiting for them in the antechamber of Ribiero Hall, where the council was still in session. They hadn't encountered any more resistance the rest of the way, making Tyler's nerves skittish, expecting a nasty surprise around every corner, though it never came.

Two guards were stationed outside the antechamber, but they proved less challenge than the locking mechanism of the door itself. In the end, it was opened from the inside by Kodos himself and closed again behind them, leaving them alone in a circular room. At the centre was a pool of crystal-clear water, reflecting the statue of governor Ribiero on its mirror.

"I'm sorry about the docking tower," Kodos said. "It wasn't possible without attracting the wrong kinds of questions…" He trailed off when neither Tyler, not especially Lorca seemed to be even listening.

Lorca scowled up at Ribiero's statue, then dropped his gaze to read the inscription at the base of it. He lingered far too long at it, pondering something Tyler wasn't privy to.

"Not everything is perfect where I'm from," Lorca said, seemingly oblivious to Tyler's scrutiny and Kodos' growing unease. "But at least we've grown out of the habit to building statues for mass murderers."

He looked at Kodos as he said this, then asked, "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for thirteen months," Kodos said. "Since I became Councilwoman Slawski's aide."

A small smile broke through his tense expression. "I've been feeding her a trigger-activated toxin. Her life is mine to take."

He watched Lorca and said. "Or yours, as the case may be."

Tyler wasn't sure to the extent to which anyone had actually briefed Kodos about Lorca, but either way, he didn't seem to be behaving any differently than he might have towards the real Lorca right then. Perhaps, in this place, it was one and the same anyway.

"What's the trigger?" Lorca asked, still scowling.

"A chemical compound that Doctor Culber has developed," Kodos said. "It's harmless on its own, but once she ingests it, it activates the toxin, it'll shut down all muscle function within a minute."

"How do you get her to ingest?"

"She has a drinking problem. It's been one of my duties to sneak her something during stressful situations. She will ingest, all I've got to do is put the cup down in front of her."

He tilted the metallic mug he'd been holding for emphasis.

Lorca nodded and Kodos walked past him.

"I saw the casualty reports, there are few guards left in the building," Kodos said as he quickly tapped onto the control panel next to the door. "But I've locked the door, now it can't be opened from the outside."

Tyler considered his feelings on these odds, waited out the second it took for Kodos to turn and step out of the way, then he lifted his phaser and fired at the panel. It exploded in a shower of sparks.

"And now it can't be opened," Tyler said.

Kodos had flinched away a step and looked to Lorca for reassurance, though there was nothing forthcoming but a frozen, detached curiosity. If anything, Lorca approved of Tyler's actions.

The three men stepped to the door leading to the council chamber, where Kodos stopped.

"Give me a moment to get everything in place," he said. "And just a head's up, there are four guards inside. Two are right next to the door on either side. Then there are solid pillars and two other guards behind them. They can't be seen from the door."

"We'll handle them," Lorca said and flicked his gaze at the door. "Go ahead."

Lorca and Tyler drew back from the door before Kodos went through, making sure no stray look from inside could pick up their presence.

Tyler said, "How do you want to play this?"

"Just follow my lead," Lorca said, though it was almost a meaningless.

"That's enough time," he concluded then and stepped into the door's sensors and it parted before him. 

He'd angled his entrance slightly to the left, leaving Tyler to cover the other side. In walking, Lorca bent low smoothly to pull the knife from his boot, twist it in his hand and slam it into the throat of the guard right next to the door before she had a chance to react.

Tyler, half a step behind him, didn't bother to pull the knife, instead push the muzzle of his phaser into the guard's temple and fire. He crumpled and Tyler caught the whiff of burned flesh. He was aware of Lorca's movement from the corner of his eyes, going for the guard behind the pillar without pausing, engaging him and Tyler heard the sound of a fist connecting to skin, followed by the gurgling of a slit throat. It didn't even occur to him to wonder who made the sound.

The second guard on Tyler's side managed to draw his phaser — which was a mistake because Tyler was already too close to him and the guard should have engaged the way his companion had done with Lorca. Tyler smacked his elbow into the guard's face, brought his phaser up and fired at the exposed underside of his chin when his head dropped back.

It had taken only a moment, barely enough for the assembled council to process what was happening. Some of them had got up from their seat at the horseshoe-shaped table. It arched up towards the back of the room, so the governor's seat was elevated above the council-members. Several aides stood lined up along the walls, some of them twitching forward or going for their weapons, but none of them had actually drawn of moved to attack.

Lorca left the guards he had killed on the floor and swung around, spread his arms out as he strode in between the two sides of the table, where a projection of New Anchorage hovered in shining lights. He crossed through it, barely narrowing his eyes at the glare.

The map confirmed that their attack force had reached the city and spread out. There were marks of fighting drawing a clear line through the city, from where the outer perimeter had been breached, to the nearest public transporters and to the three massive spires marking the phaser banks. From the display alone, it was impossible to tell how well it was going for them, though.

"I heard it's election day," Lorca said, faint amusement and an ugly sneer mixing mockingly in his tone, matching his demeanour. "I'm here to cast my vote."

They knew who he was, or at least they thought they did and Tyler doubted they would be allowed to learn the truth of it. 

"How dare you!?" the governor said and pulled himself to his feet, staring down at Lorca who had come to stand right in front of him. Lorca glanced up at him, saying nothing, then turned around and strode back to the beginning of the table. Casually, he settled a hand on the table and swung his legs up, levering himself to his feet on top of the table. "I," Lorca said, placing one careful step after another on his walk back to the governor's seat, "dare a great many things."

Tyler kept a watchful eye on the council-members next to Lorca so he could interfere if one of them went for Lorca's legs. However, rather than use the opening, they backed away from him just slightly, terrified of his sudden close proximity.

Stopping next to the governor, Lorca now looked down on him, even though the governor was still standing. He'd tensed but managed not to flinch away.

Lorca watched him for a moment, then tilted his head like a curious predator before he looked towards Kodos. Tyler, as well as everyone else, followed the direction of his gaze. Unlike everyone else, Tyler took note of the cup in front of council-woman Slawski and the way her hand rested right next to it. Lorca was looking at Kodos when he said, "I vote for him."

A ripple of confusion passed over the assembled people before they figured out who Lorca was talking about. The council-woman's eyes went wide and she pushed herself back from the table so she could turn around and glare at Kodos. She opened her mouth, but then the outrage on her face was replaced by puzzlement and then shock. She sucked in a strained breath, her eyes going wide and her face blanched. A shudder went through her body, barely noticeable. Her body folded stiffly over her chair and was still. A thin rivulet of foamy saliva ran down the side of her still open mouth.

Kodos picked up the thread Lorca had thrown him, gripped Slawski's dead body by the shoulder and roughly pulled her from the chair, dropping her to the floor like so much trash.

"I claim her seat," Kodos said, looked at the poisoned cup, then at the governor, voice picking up strength as he spoke. "I demand you support my claim or suffer the consequences."

A council-man two seats down from Kodos slammed his fist on the table. "We will not be bullied by an upstart!" he shouted, then turned a baleful glare at Lorca. "And certainly not a despicable traitor!"

Before the moment had a chance to tip the wrong way, Tyler lifted his phaser and shot. The council-members wore no body armour, and the energy blast went through the man's chest, residual power shot sparks along the hole as he howled in pain before he died.

Lorca arched a brow.

The governor tracked a look around the room, along the rows of council-members, resting for a moment longer on Kodos, who still by the newly vacant seat. Then the governor looked at Lorca. He only had to raise his head slightly, due to the elevation of his table, but Lorca still seemed to tower right next to him.

"It is an acceptable practice," he said slowly. "The use of poison should even earn him a commendation, but…"

He made a small gesture with his hand, careful to make it seem innocuous. "How am I to ignore the circumstances?"

It was all Tyler could do to hide his sense of triumph. Barely a few minutes in, only two dead — the guards didn't count — and the governor was already negotiating with them. Tyler had expected the governor to be more steadfast, but once again, Tarsus IV was far away from the centres of power in the Empire, the people here, even the ones of prominence, hadn't had what it took to make it anywhere else.

"You said it yourself," Lorca said. "An acceptable practice and a commendation, just pretend I'm not here. Get to it."

Despite the light tone, it was clearly an order, voiced with a hint of disgust lacing his words that almost made the governor bark. He thought better of it, though, took a breath and put his hand on the console in front of him.

The map display disappeared and was replaced by the terran emblem.

"Computer," the governor said. "Open confirmation proceedings under the Proper Succession Order for Council-woman Slawski."

"Opened," the computer confirmed. "Appointee?"

"Adrian Kodos."

"Eligibility confirmed," the computer stated. "Succession confirmed. Welcome, councilman Kodos."

Lorca shifted his weight forward and, with a sneer, said, "Let's not forget the commendation."

It was entirely unnecessary, of course, nothing of this would stand for very long, but Lorca was going to push through every command he could get fulfilled, digging these people's graves deeper. Once the rest of the empire became aware of what was happening, the entire council would be executed for treason. Tyler didn't know if Lorca even realised it or was just using it as another move in a power-play.

"Of course," the governor said, only slightly displeased. "Computer, note a commendation for Mr Kodos' use of poison in his file."

"Commendation entered into file."

A scuffle off to the side dragged Tyler's attention away from the proceedings, ready to squash every little flicker of resistance before it could fan up. A young woman had stepped forward from the back of the room. She ignored Tyler completely, looked up at the governor, but then she settled her gaze on Lorca. She held her posture with military-trained stiffness, setting Tyler immediately on edge. 

She said, "I wish to claim his seat, too." She put a hand to the back of the chair of the council-man Tyler had shot.

Tyler got the impression Lorca was momentarily too stunned to remember his role, a look of sheer puzzlement crossed his face, swiftly followed by what might have become a smirk if he hadn't straightened his expression back into arrogant indifference.

Lorca shrugged. "Why not? Better remember who put you there." He raised a meaningful eyebrow at her.

"My gratitude is yours," the young woman said. "And whatever else you might want."

Barely paying attention to her, Lorca muttered, "In a minute," as he turned back to the governor.

"Get her in, if there's a commendation for radical opportunism, let her have it," Lorca said before the governor had a chance to decide if he wanted to object or not.

The governor put his hand back to the console and the computer confirmed the girl's appointment to the council without issue. She hauled the dead body from the seat and dumped it to the floor, much like Kodos had done before. The council-members on either side of her studiously avoided even acknowledging her.

Tyler tried reading the governor's face and guess at his thoughts. With Lorca towering over them all, the governor looked up at him expectantly, licking his lips as he prepared to say something, voice a proposal of his own, but held back by the incalculable nature of the man he had to put it to.

Carelessly disregarding them all, Lorca pulled his phaser from its holster by his thigh, lifted it and studied it as if he needed to bridge a few boring minutes. He was trusting Tyler to keep watch, keep him alive in this pool of people who were most assuredly not sharks, but thought of themselves as such and could be stupid enough to emulate the behaviour.

"Ko… _Mr_ Kodos," Lorca said. "Come here for a second."

Tyler wondered at the tuck on the corner of Lorca's mouth as he corrected the address of the newly-minted council-member, a minuscule tightening of the muscles.

Kodos got up smoothly as if they had rehearsed this and he knew exactly what was going to happen. Maybe he had an inkling, after all, they had come here needing a very specific thing from the governor and the council.

Hesitating for only a moment, possibly unsure if he was expected to climb up on the table, Kodos stopped next to Lorca, just below the governor and looked up.

With a slow, contemplative flick of his gaze over the governor, Lorca twisted the weapon in his hand and offered it to Kodos.

"Come on, get your own hands dirty."

Perhaps he expected to witness reluctance, if only for a fleeting moment, a tiny delay as Kodos worked out the meaning of his words — or failed to, because Tyler was beginning to suspect Lorca was neither talking to, nor actually looking at this Adrian Kodos right there at all, but someone else entirely, from his own universe.

Kodos snatched the weapon from Lorca's hand so fast it was almost a reflexive action, not requiring any conscious thought. Blindly relying on Lorca setting up the weapon correctly, Kodos took it, whipped it up and fired. The energy beam sliced through the governor's chest, the upward angle meant the beam exited his body at the neck and left a dark scorch mark on the painted ceiling above and behind them.

A shudder went through the assembled people, the council-members and their aides at the realisation of it, that this game wasn't over yet and Lorca was taking them all hostage against all the might of the terran empire, leaving them with all the survival chances of a moth whose wings were already beginning to sizzle.

Tyler took a warning step forward, gaze digging into everyone who seemed to be more forward than the rest.

If he felt the sudden spike in tension at all, Lorca showed nothing of it, arching a brow as he looked over the assembly, making a dismissive gesture with one hand.

"You know how this works," he said. "The king's dead, long live the king."

Kodos rounded the table and climbed the back of the dais to get to the governor's seat, pulling the corpse out of the way like he had done with Slawski mere minutes before. It was an unusually fast rise in ranks, but not unheard of in more ambitious circles. The only tricky aspect was, really, to kill the people above in the correct order and making sure your support didn't erode on the way.

Kodos' only support were two traitors — Tyler still didn't know if he liked thinking of himself as such, but Lorca seemed to unapologetically revel in it, and Tyler felt the appeal of cutting all connections and obligations, being beholden to no one.

A council-woman cleared her throat before she spoke. "I'm trying to figure out what it is you hope to achieve," she said, polite, but without deference.

"Today?" Lorca asked, seemed amused at the question. "I'm conquering New Anchorage."

"The imperial fleet will just take it back from you."

Lorca shrugged. "Who'd want to keep this place anyway?" He tilted his neck at her like curious bird-of-prey. "The thing about Tarsus IV is, it's really far away from anything even remotely interesting or valuable. It'll be days or even weeks before the empire can get here in force and save you from me. If that's what they'll be doing at all. Until then, this place is mine and I will do exactly as I please with it, are we clear on this or do you have any more objections?"

He looked at Tyler, pointedly, reminding them of what the consequence of having objections would be.

Lorca waited, gave the assembly the chance to come to the conclusion he needed them to, banking on that their ambition and self-serving desire to survive would trump any loyalty they had in an empire, which, as he had just stated, was far away and didn't really care if they lived or died.

"Now," Lorca said. "Governor Kodos needs to be confirmed by your vote, I believe."

He looked at the woman who had shouldered her way onto the table before, his meaning clear. She nodded and placed her hand on the console on the table. The emblem hovering in the middle of the room flickered back into life.

She said, "I nominate Adrian Kodos as governor as Proper Successor."

"Nomination accepted, affirmation needed," the computer said.

Something crashed just outside and Tyler knew immediately that it must be the doors to the antechamber being blown open, immediately followed by a loud crash just on the doors of the council-chamber.

Tyler cursed inwardly. Some of the council-members who were already beginning to place their hands on the sensors to confirm the appointment stopped in mid-movement and indecision. The woman who had challenged Lorca crossed her arms over her chest, staring stubbornly in the empty space in front of her.

"Oh come on," Lorca sneered. "You almost had it."

The metal of the door groaned and Tyler was close enough to hear the quiet hissing of the weapon beams directed at it. Lorca jumped from the table and Tyler took it as a good sign that the council-members nearest to him still flinched even though they hoped rescue was just outside.

The woman next to him lifted her hands in surrender and said, "I already confirmed Mr Kodos!" and the man right next to her slapped his hand down the moment Lorca took a step toward him.

"Captain," Tyler warned. They had no time to bully each and everyone into compliance. It would take too long and the door was already beginning to give way.

Lorca nodded, mouth drawn into a thin line. "You hold the door," he said and Tyler immediately stepped to the side, next to the pillar, using it as cover. Lorca frowned at Kodos and said, "And you take cover, don't want you killed by accident."

As he spoke, Lorca had followed the outline of the table behind the council-member's backs until he reached the first one who hadn't cast her vote, the woman with her arms crossed.

She glared at him defiantly, opened her mouth to speak but Lorca's hand was already at her neck, snapping her head forward and into the table with sudden force. A tiny wail escaped her, blood from her broken nose leaving a puddle on the table. Dazed, she lacked the coordination to fight back when Lorca forcefully pulled her arm free and put her hand on the sensor pad.

Despite their time constraints, Lorca made a good show of leisurely paying attention to every single one of the council-members who hadn't cast their vote yet. He singled them out, if only for a moment. One of the aides came to help his council-woman and faster than Tyler had ever seen him move, Lorca bent himself out of the lunge, pulled the knife from his boot and stabbed it upward into the soft underside of the aide's chin. He dragged it free and a gush of blood splashed onto his boots.

The council's resistance crumbled after that, their learned and well-taught habit of bending to shows of strength and ruthlessness making them lose sight of just how precarious Lorca's position actually was.

When the door finally gave way, the council had all but confirmed Kodos' appointment, with just a very few votes missing. There was no rush with overwhelming numbers, Tyler alone couldn't have held the door against any concerted effort while Lorca dashed across the room to strong-arm the remainder of the council into finishing the affirmation process. Tyler had time to spot him suddenly surrounded by council-members and their aides, but had to fix on the door breaking, exploding and melding off their hinges to allow the scattering of remaining guards open fire into the council-chamber.

Tyler returned fire, trying to get an accurate count of them. No more than five, he estimated but making a decent effort to seem like more.

Behind and off to the side, he still heard the sounds of Lorca struggling and had a sudden, shocking flash of his future if dumb luck took him down in the confusion, but he wasn't anxious enough to steal a look and risk giving the guards an opening they could use to wedge through.

The council had nothing but numbers against Lorca's tightly-wound knife-edge desolation and the way he had honed it into a devastating weapon that carried him through the sudden rush of ineffective attacks. They stalled him for a few moments only and he shook them off like a lion, barely bothered by their peasant audacity.

"I'll do it!" the council-man shouted, edging away from Lorca and back to his seat. A small open circle formed around Lorca, watching him, but lacking the guts to attack him again after the three dead he'd left behind after their first attempt. It had become clear that mere numbers weren't going to take him down, they would also need at least a modicum of skill and coordination.

"See?" the frightened council-man said, his hand shaking. He wasn't looking away from Lorca and blindly groping for the pad. Lorca had stopped and watched him, holding himself still, but with his stance relaxed enough to allow him to spring into action again. The scuffle hadn't scratched the immaculate, armour jacket and trousers, but fresh blood dripped off its smooth surface in several places. None of the fresh blood was his.

He made a low grunt in his throat when the council-man failed to find the right spot a second time and became more panicked as a result. Instead of leaning past the chair, he tried to sidle around it but still couldn't look away from Lorca and the way his patience was unravelling quickly.

"Sweet mercy! I'm sorry! I…"

Lorca lunged forward and the council-man made a short, aborted sound, not quite a shriek as Lorca gripped his wrist and slammed it down in the correct place. The hand was lax in his grip and the shaking stopped the moment he touched it. The council-man suddenly snapped his captured hand back and hammered his elbow into the side of Lorca's chest, then twisted his body and brought the knife he'd been holding aligned to the other side of his body around. Lorca had buckled under the initial blow and the council-man drove the knife sharply at his face. It would have hit his cheek, most likely his eye had been the target. Too close to the council-man to deflect, Lorca snapped his free hand up and caught the tip of the blade in the palm of his gloved hand, then closed his fingers around it and wrenched it from the council-man's grip, tossed it away uncaring if he hit anyone with it.

The council-man didn't stop struggling at first, going for Lorca's phaser instead, pummelling him with his fist, though without the element of surprise, he wasn't a dangerous opponent. Lorca knocked the feet away from under him, then stepped back as the man slumped to the floor.

At the door, Tyler shouted a curse. One of the guards had made a mad dash at the door and now lay dead in the doorway, but another had been right behind the first and rushed Tyler. A small woman, but corded with muscle, she barrelled into Tyler and the moment he stopped firing the other guards rushed into the room and took cover along the sides where they found it.

Everyone ducked behind and below tables, though the decorative wood offered no actual protection.

Lorca stole a look at the emblem, in the commotion, he hadn't heard the computer voice and couldn't be sure if Kodos was governor already. He hastened around the table and up on the dais.

Kodos was sitting huddled under the governor's desk in a corner, safe — for a given measure — from a stray energy beam. He had a PADD in his hand, his fingers flying over it. He spotted Lorca dropping down close to him, using the governor's high-backed chair as cover and returning fire along the length of the room.

Without looking up, Kodos spoke quickly. "It went through, I've got full governor privileges. I've turned off automated defences and I'm disabling the scattering field but I can't remote control the transporters."

He tapped something, "But I got a message to Lieutenant Leighton and he said they've almost made it."

"Not good enough," Lorca said.

"I'm…" Kodos started, stopped and added, "ah."

Lorca spared him a glance. A near-miss burned past his head as he ducked and singed his hair. He hissed and patted the side of his head to make sure he wasn't on fire.

"Dr Ferasini," Kodos said, unable to keep a grin from threatening his face. "We can begin beaming people over."

"Put them in the antechamber," Lorca said.

Barely a second passed before the sound of transporter beams could be heard. The terrans came down with weapons ready, ten at first, shortly followed by ten more. They made short work of the few remaining guards then filed into the council-chamber.

Lorca stepped out from behind the chair and to the side, watching them, suffering graciously through the tasteless salutes in his direction. Beside him, Kodos regained his feet and without hesitation, took his seat.

"The council will come to order," he shouted and under the threatening, watchful eyes of Captain Lorca's followers, those members of the council who were still alive returned to their seats, albeit reluctantly.

Tyler gave the woman who had attacked him a parting kick in the stomach, though she was good and dead by then. He squared his shoulders and allowed himself a deep breath, making eye contact with Lorca across the length of the room. Assuring himself the captain was still uninjured and letting him know the same about himself.

At Lorca's gesture, Tyler walked over and up the dais to stand next to him, but he only got another short look and no verbal acknowledgement.

Kodos opened the communication to Lieutenant Leighton the transporter hub. The young lieutenant looked worse for wear, especially in the unkind glare of the holographic projection. He had nearly died mere hours ago and it showed.

"Do we have the phaser banks?" Lorca asked.

_"No, sir,"_ Leighton said. _"They must have realised they are our target. We haven't been able to break through the defences."_

"Good thing we got reinforcements and they don't," Lorca said. "Beam us right into their control room, then send over some backup."

_"Aye, sir,"_ Leighton nodded. _"Ready to beam."_

Lorca nodded, "Energise."

* * *

The bridge of the Buran was lit only by fading flickering projections and electricity fires smouldering away inside consoles and destroyed displays. Tiny sparks sometimes shot bright and blue over their cackling light. The darkness and cold of space were invading and Landry wasn't sure she didn't hear the sound of venting atmosphere through a hairline crack right above her. 

Slumped in the captain's chair, knowing she was re-breathing the same old air far too often, she could do nothing but watch the display in her chair's armrest and track their progress. Sometimes, she heard some of the other bridge crew behind her or saw them move from the corners of her eyes, clinging to their station, but they were all long past when they could do anything but wait and hope the Buran found her way, limping on doggedly on her failing impulse output.

She remembered Gabriel Lorca, the image as sharp and precise as the icicles beginning to form on every surface, the sting of cool on her feverish skin. She remembered him standing by the window on a luxury suite of a pacifican orbital station. It was following the sunrise, flooding the room with constant, soft rays which were a caress rather than a stab to the eyes. His back was turned, the caitian fur coat trailed long behind him on the polished floor. The coat was a gift from Georgiou, though whether it was even hers to give when he had been the one to kill the caitian warriors, had gone uncommented between him and Landry. Underneath the coat, he was naked and entirely good enough to eat, turning to watch her over the rim of the delicate glass in his hand.

"I'm trusting you," he said, words sweeter than any promise of love or devotion he might carelessly make to any or all of the people surrounding him, vying for his favour or his position or, like the emperor, his subservience. 

Georgiou had trapped him, for now, in the gilded cage of her daughter's birthday celebration. At sixteen, Michael Burnham was an adult and would join the ranks of Starfleet, so Georgiou required everyone who was someone — or hoped to be or feared they might no longer be — to share the festivities. It didn't matter to Georgiou that Lorca had other matters to attend to, other plans to enact, greater goals to follow than anything the Emperor might dream to demand of him.

"The captain always goes down with the ship," he said, his voice rough and cold, dispersing the effect of the sensuous ripple of the coat against his skin as he walked a few steps towards her.

"But you," he said, tipping the glass of romulan ale in her direction and a drop the colour of his eyes stole itself over the rim to settle on his finger. "Are not the captain."

He transferred the glass to his other hand and stroked his finger up over the trail the drop had made.

"You," he said. "I expect _you_ to come _back."_

He sucked the finger into his mouth. "You'll depart in an hour," he added, voice dropping low in distinct, purring invitation. "You can come _here_ first."

The memory of him manifested on her tongue in the infinitely less arousing present, her body throbbing from the force of it, though she might just be misinterpreting the adrenaline. Or she might not be, she had never been very good at telling apart what her captain made her feel and what a hard fight did to her. It was the same irresistible sensation of danger, the thrill of it, and the same rush of ecstasy for a shattering ending.

Though perhaps the memory wasn't just the idle musings of a dying mind, not when it spelt out so clearly what was required of her. Her captain's fate, manifesting for her the directions she must take, casting what had seemed like the concession of defeat into a battle-cry for another fight. Now, suddenly, with his memory, the refusal to die was no cowardice at all.

She turned bleary eyes on the display, tried to focus and blinked until she released the display was broken and couldn't actually clear. It was enough to tell her they had almost made it. The asteroids had shielded them for now, the clever course hampering the Defiant and making a chase undesirable when the prey wasn't going to get away anyway. She wondered briefly at what Maddox thought they were doing if he was in contact with New Anchorage and knew what was waiting for him. Perhaps he didn't, or perhaps he thought he could handle it, or perhaps he simply did not care, distracted by the fantasy of his hands on Captain Lorca's throat. It was almost amusing to think how disappointed he would be to learn just how far beyond his reach Lorca truly was in this same moment.

She flicked a switch and opened a ship-wide broadcast.

"Attention," she said, surprised despite herself at the hard rasp and force she still had in her voice. "In a few minutes, we'll enter orbit around Tarsus IV. Prepare to abandon ship. Bridge out."

The silence seemed to stretch after that, but in truth, it couldn't have been more than a second.

"Abandon ship, sir?" someone asked, it took a moment to identify the voice as belonging to the ops officer to her right.

Landry laughed, it hurt her throat and it made her laugh more.

"What? You think the fight's over already?" she chuckled. "We've only just started." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _References:_ "Politics: A Trojan horse race." — Stanisław Jerzy Lec
> 
> I would like to formally thank Dorothy Dunnett for planting the visual of "hot nude guy in a fur coat" in my impressionable teenage mind years ago.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 02/February/2019_


	8. Other Men Die

The goggles filtered the afternoon glare as Culber stepped to the window on the upper floor of the hall, near the sleeping quarters to look out over the monotonous stretch of fields outside.

His fingers ached and the inside of his skull felt chafed raw. He really wasn't this kind of doctor. He wasn't used to treating living patients or at least treat them with the intention of keeping them alive and in fighting condition. He researched toxic gas agents. He dissected lab subjects.

Nevertheless, he felt he had done a decent job of patching up what he could — and euthanised everyone he lacked the equipment or the time to help. Most everyone he had put back on their feet was now back in New Anchorage, leaving behind only a skeleton crew for protection, though what difference it would make was pretty much beyond him.

"Any news?" he asked when he sensed rather than saw Ferasini step to his side.

"Kodos' appointment hasn't been revoked and as a result, we maintain control of the city and the phaser batteries," she answered. "We have enough people to hold the city against the military forces on the planet, but the Defiant carries a complement of shook troops that could decimate us easily."

Culber stole a bemused look at her and caught her picking at the edge of the artificial skin on her face. It looked dried up, angry red coming up below patches of white. Artificial skin needed permanent maintenance until the body replaced it with its own tissue. He considered offering to treat her but found he was more interested in how long it would take her to ask him for help.

"That's why the phaser batteries will come in handy," he said.

Ferasini pulled her face and snipped a tiny flake from her cheek, then lowered her hand when she realised what she was doing and that he had noticed.

"And then what?"

"And then what _what_?" he asked back.

Angry, she crossed her arms over her chest. "What do we do next?"

Culber shrugged and said nothing. Personally, though he didn't feel like sharing the line of thought, Lorca had proven to be resourceful enough. He had turned himself from helpless prisoner into a conquerer — albeit a minor one — by riding on the coattails of circumstances, luck and his own, raw talents. He'd come up with something and it was out of Culber's hands anyway. So, instead of saying any of this, Culber turned back to look out over the fields and said, "Have you noticed he's not bothered by the light?"

She made a low sound, which he chose to interpret as vague interest.

"So what's your bet? Phenotypic difference or individual mutation?"

"You should dissect him and find out."

Culber chuckled to himself. "Not likely that I'll get the chance."

He had a shot of analgesic prepared for himself, which should get him through the first bouts of a stay in the agony booth, it wasn't his fault Ferasini had dismissed his offer.

"Did you notice anything about Captain Lorca when he was here?"

"It was night," Ferasini said in a tone that implied she was ready to finish the argument there and then. Culber shrugged, as amused at her seething anger as he was captivated by his musings on Lorca's physical disposition.

They fell silent again and Culber watched little puffs of white clouds mar the sky, wondered if there would be rain, tried to remember what weather control had scheduled for this month.

"He took the Rush pin," he said.

"And that surprises you?" she asked, quite incredulous. "I thought _he_ was the only one who believes he's faking it."

"My dear Doctor Ferasini," Culber said, knew the too-friendly tone would just rile her. "I never said I was surprised."

"You…" she started and he was already fairly certain what she would say next. Not in her precise choice of words, but the sentiment had come through clearly several times already. She thought Captain Lorca had made a grave mistake when he put Culber in charge instead of her and she thought this strange, alien Lorca they had in their hands was either a pathetic pushover or a dangerous contender.

An alarm siren filled the building and the view Culber had sought out briefly flickered as the shield emitters they had put up come to life in a tight periphery.

"Would you look at that," Culber said as he watched the first escape pod fall like a shooting star from the tranquil clouds to bury itself into the field not far from them, charring and burning crops all around it.

Ferasini already flew into action. Back along the catwalk and down the steep ladder, shouting orders.

"You don't see that every day," Culber said, over his shoulder as if she was still close enough to hear him, or would have cared if she were. He turned back to the view and watched as the pods began to fall like hail.

* * *

Corpses littered the narrow outer door and narrow steps leading down to the subbasement of the phaser battery, where the control room was housed in a bunker just below. The short hallway and small, adjoining rooms —a common room, bathroom facilities and a handful of offices, storage and a small weapons' locker to supply personnel — all showed the same scorched signs of a fight. 

Tyler picked his steps careful through the mess, making sure he didn't venture too close to someone before he wasn't sure they were really dead, finishing them off with a phaser blast rather than the more intimate knife.

Just outside, where the steps drew level with the pavement, he found the body of Commander Markannen, slumped where she had fallen. He put his boot to her side and she rolled to her back, her face still set in the faint expression of surprise she had worn during death, still stunned at the way events had unfolded.

The phaser battery sat in the middle of the city, in a small plaza surrounded only by the fence of thin spikes, the shield emitters to deter unauthorised approach. All around, the city was deserted, the lockdown firmly held in place by automated systems and the population's sense of self-preservation. Tyler's searching gaze found nothing and no one looking back at him, everyone shuttered away behind in-transparent screens blocking out not only the cruel glare of the sun but the harsh, prevailing reality.

Satisfied that no sniper was left to take a lucky shot, Tyler bent down to retrieve the knife from Commander Markannen's armpit. The blade had dug deep, right through the protective armour and into her heart behind her rib-cage. Tyler had to put his other hand to her shoulder to get enough leverage to tear it free.

He stood up and made his way back to the control room, carefully sealing each door on the way there, for whatever it was worth. While Kodos held the governor's seat, even Maddox would have trouble overriding the colony's computer system, it wouldn't last, but it didn't have to.

They had taken control of the other two phaser batteries as well, though only to find one of them taken off-grid for repairs. Repairs which, by the look of it, had been overdue for some time. Tyler racked his brain briefly for the report, but couldn't come up with anything. Maybe he had forgotten to sign up on it and here he was, paying the price. Lieutenant Leighton — re-united to Tyler's utter lack of surprise — with Cadet Moreau, had taken command of the second phaser battery which gave them control over the sum total of New Anchorage's defences.

In the control room, a central console encircled two targeting chairs and several workstations along the wall for support and maintenance. When Tyler entered, Lorca was standing in front of the central console, one arm extending and the other resting on his hip, watching at the view-screen in front of him.

The two-dimensional image rippled and tore, distorted almost beyond recognition.

_"Permission to abandon ship, Captain?"_ a woman's voice asked and Tyler knew who this must be.

Lorca was still, in disconcerting contrast to the violence of not so long ago. Tyler stepped to him, finished wiping the knife clean of blood and offered it to him. The weapon was standard issue, nothing to distinguish it from the countless other knives stuck and lost inside an enemy because the rhythm of the fight had made it momentarily disadvantageous to retrieve. Tyler only knew it was Lorca's knife because he had seen him use it, had stood with the others as Lorca put himself at the front of them, to meet Markannen and her presumptuous demand for Lorca's surrender.

Lorca had never said a word, never hesitated, never even slowed down. He had dispatched her with a speed and ease, the soldiers around her had been as stunned as she was herself. There had been a fight afterwards, of course, but Tyler couldn't shake the feeling that this first, callous opening salvo had shaken these people to their core. To them, in a few precious seconds, it had been made clear just why half the galaxy was calling for Lorca's blood while trembling at the sound of his name, while the other half had fallen in line behind him and for him.

The thought had flashed through Tyler's mind then. What if this was no charade? What if this story about parallel universes was nothing but a fairy tale, meant to throw sand in the eyes of opponents and allies alike? Did this look like a man who was _not_ the Gabriel Lorca the galaxy knew about?

Now, leaning against the console with his eyes cast down in thought, Lorca looked nothing but tired, his posture a badly disguised attempt to keep himself upright. Mere minutes ago, the black of his combat armour had given him the lean, lethal appearance of a killer, yet now it made him look like a haggard shadow about to fade. His face was pale and gaunt and his expression was blank.

"You're asking me, Commander?"

The woman on the screen chortled, shifting in the captain's chair. The image quality was too bad to truly assess her condition, but Tyler wouldn't have been surprised to learn she was badly injured, possibly dying. What he could make out of the bridge behind wasn't doing much better, either.

_"No one… else,"_ she croaked through the hysteria of her laughter. _"No one else there to ask."_

A beat, a cough.

Lorca didn't move a muscle.

_"Permission to abandon ship, Captain?"_

Without any visible change, Lorca spoke, voice pitched low and almost intimate. He said, "No need to go down with the ship, Commander. You don't need permission, I'm _ordering_ you out of there. We clear?"

Tyler expected Landry to bark at the casual arrogance, but she only laughed again, the sound weak in her exhaustion.

_"Yes, sir."_

When the connection was cut, Tyler handed Lorca the knife he had retrieved, observing the remnants of practised grace as Lorca took it and bent down to slide it back into its sheath.

"Landry is already evacuating the crew via escape pods," Lorca informed him.

He paused and seemed like he wanted to say something else, then shook his head just slightly. He stood straight and then away from the console he'd been leaning against as if to prove he didn't need its support after all.

"Let's do our part," Lorca said, loud enough to hear the command in his voice. The two soldiers in the targeting seats booted up the system. With his back to them, Lorca stood facing the view-screen in front of him, paced a few steps before he stopped and crossed his arms over his chest.

The control room of the phaser bank was no bridge, smaller and with fewer systems. It had communications and was locked into the colony's wider computer network as well as an uplink to satellites in orbit to allow for more precise targeting, but it was not a starship, leaving Lorca momentarily at odds with where to go.

Tyler picked an empty computer console at the side of the room. He accessed their accumulated data and threw it on the small view-screen in front of Lorca, giving him something to focus on. With his back turned towards the room, Tyler couldn't see Lorca's face, but suspected it was set in concentration as he analysed the data Tyler was crunching in front of him.

The sensors had some difficulty picking out the Defiant in orbit, considerably more than Tyler had expected. It turned out, the recent battles had dislodged more than a handful of asteroids and damaged satellites. Debris of all sorts, not least the wreck of the Buran littered the atmosphere. Several of the larger pieces already triggered impact alarms when the system projected their flight path and the fact that they would crash into the surface of the planet.

Finding the Defiant in the chaos turned out to be easier than finding a weak spot for the phasers to target. There was no other ship of its class in the empire. They had _similar_ ships, reverse-engineered from what had been advanced technology when the Defiant had first appeared, but they had applied terran logic to these designs. Lorca's universe followed completely different concepts and Tyler had no time to question Lorca about them.

"Wait," Lorca said, voice quiet and when he said nothing more, Tyler turned around to find Lorca looking up at the display.

"We can't shoot it down," he added.

Tyler hesitated for a second. "The phaser banks have enough firepower to…"

"No," Lorca snapped and frowned at Tyler and his incomprehension. "We _can't_. We shoot it down, we're stranded. The plan was to ride the Buran out of here, but that's not happening."

Tyler just watched the other man, aware that everything in him was straining to start an argument with his commanding officer in front of a number of other subordinates at the peak of a crisis. With a terran commander, it would be a death sentence. But Lorca didn't have any authority Tyler hadn't given him and he had put such a point on _not_ being terran…

"We can't take the Defiant," Tyler said. "There's just no way…"

Though, inwardly the odds didn't seem quite as bleak. They probably had enough soldiers to take control of the Defiant, but it meant nothing because they were down on the planet, where Maddox could just pick them off using his superior firepower and equipment.

Lorca made a noise at the back of his throat, like a growl and a sigh, fuelled by exhaustion and resignation. He trailed a look over the view-screen and the pieces of analysis data littering it, some of them turning red as the Defiant approached. Lorca didn't bother to argue. With two strides, he was at Tyler's side, completely ignoring him as Lorca reached for the console.

One-handed, Lorca put in several data-points and Tyler observed as the attack pattern emerged for the phasers to target. Phaser banks, torpedo bays, shield emitters. Everything the Defiant needed to fight, but sparing her most basic functionality.

When he was done, Lorca stepped back as if nothing had happened at all and strode back to his central position.

He said, "Call Lieutenant Leighton. Audio only."

Unsure of how he felt about the situation, Tyler followed the order.

"Channel open," he announced, making sure nothing of his misgiving entered his voice.

"Lieutenant," Lorca said. "We need to keep the Defiant space-worthy, sync your targeting to my parameters. Don't blow that ship up, just make it stop firing at us."

There was a pause as the systems synced with each other and a tiny fraction of it longer, while Lieutenant Leighton, much like Tyler, considered the wisdom behind the tactic Lorca was running them on. Unlike Tyler, Leighton kept his tongue and gave only a curt, professional confirmation.

The phaser battery's control room sat right on top of the underground generator and a slight vibration climbed up through the floor as the phasers powered up, feeding the tension in the room.

Lorca took a step forward, staring at the view-screen as if he could will the phasers to find their mark with his intensity alone, watching the proximity counters change. The Defiant was finishing off the Buran, her shields would be up, but the phaser batteries of Tarsus IV were built to deal with an enemy fleet of ships. Planet-bound, they didn't have to worry about weight or size or power distribution in an enclosed space surrounded by a vacuum.

Completely focussed on the screen, Lorca raised both hands, one finger raised between the soldiers in the chairs behind him and the target in front of him.

"Ready to fire, sir," Tyler said and received only a slight tilt of Lorca's head in response.

"Target and fire on my mark," Lorca said. The Defiant slowed down a fraction and the sensors said it had stopped firing at the Buran because the ship had been torn apart. As it adjusted its orbit, several more of Lorca's preferred target lit up on the screen.

"Fire!"

The surge of energy made the entire room shiver like a great beast.

"Again!"

"Defiant shields at 84 per cent," Tyler announced. "Damage to the hull of the forward saucer section. Shield emitter grid is rebuilding. The Defiant is changing course."

"Target main sensor array," Lorca said. "Fire."

The room shook again. The rush of the energy so close, Tyler thought it brushed over him on the way into orbit. He imagined he could feel the powerful impacts as they shook through the shields.

Lorca had them lay down concerted fire along the hull of the Defiant, intentionally targeting either weapons' systems or non-essential parts of the ship until the sensors said they found a weakness in the shield distribution grid and Lorca concentrated fire on that.

"The Defiant will be within firing range in twenty-three seconds," Tyler said.

"Well, take out her phasers then," Lorca said, the sneer audibly pressed through his bared teeth.

They changed tack again, short, hard bursts aimed at the phasers, timed in accord with the second phaser battery to reduce load on their own. The Defiant was suffering shield strength fluctuations due to Lorca's focus on the distribution grid. Tyler set the computer to analyse it and within moments, he could time their shots to when the Defiant's shields would be at its weakest.

They punched through the shields. The phaser's power only slightly mitigated by the hull polarisation as it hit the outer hull and scratched the inner one.

Lorca made a low sound in his throat, it sounded triumphant, but he otherwise kept his composure firmly in place. The battle commanders Tyler had known so far would usually take time out to gloat, trusting their crews not to waste an advantage, but Lorca seemed far too aware of how precarious their situation was.

If Maddox was smart, he'd retreat and save his ship from further damage. The Tarsus phaser batteries were built to engage a fleet of ships, with all firepower aimed at just one, the Defiant didn't stand a chance. This battle could be won on ground level and easily for Maddox. He should find a spot nearby when he could drop his shields and beam down his shock troops. He could overrun New Anchorage in a few hours, but the Defiant didn't budge.

"We're being targeted," Tyler said when the warning flashed in front of him. "We should be able to withstand them for a while, but…" _But I'm not sure if we can outlast them._

Lorca wasn't the only captain with an intuitive understanding of battle. Maddox had earned his place, too. Perhaps Maddox was blinded by his need for revenge, but he wasn't stupid enough to throw it all away for nothing.

Lorca turned his head towards Tyler, expression stony and unreadable except for the slightest cant of an eyebrow. Pitching his voice a little lower, Lorca said, "Finish your sentences, Commander, I have no time for guessing games."

Smarting under the reprimand more than seemed necessary, Tyler cleared his throat and said, "If the Defiant doesn't retreat and we can't disable her phasers, we'll be blown up."

Something akin to a smirk stole itself onto Lorca's face just as he turned his attention back to the screen. He took a breath, like bracing himself and his voice lost the hint of familiarity it had held just before.

"I know, so let's not do that. Time our shots with theirs, target the phaser muzzles, but fire at half power to limit the damage."

The shrilling of a red alert siren filled the room just ahead of the first phaser impact from the Defiant. Tyler input the new orders and the two soldiers at the phaser controls took them.

Tyler glanced over the sensor readings to gauge the situation outside. New Anchorage was still deserted, the lockdown still in effect, but even without it, people weren't stupid enough to run around outside while they were under a phaser bombardment from orbit. Some of the surrounding buildings had already suffered, slowly turning the city into a war zone.

The room shook and shuddered constantly now, as the Defiant gave as good as it was getting. Other than that, the silence in the room was nearly absolute. Intensity was coming off Lorca in waves, his hands still raised at the view-screen as if he was conducting the phasers, following along to interfere the moment he needed to make an adjustment to their aim.

"Sh…" Tyler hissed, stopped himself from cursing. "Captain, the Defiant has launched two torpedoes. Six seconds to impact. One at us, one at the other battery. The target…"

This time he couldn't have finished the sentence. The torpedoes hadn't been aimed directly at them, but just outside the small circle of protective shields around them. The torpedo tore a deep crater into the plaza outside, burned and scattered the corpses still lying there.

"Here comes another!"

The lights flickered and the room shook.

"Sync with the crowd control defence turrets, try to take out the torpedoes before they hit," Lorca ordered.

They were neither powerful nor fast enough to catch a descending torpedo, but it was worth a try anyway, possibly they'd get lucky.

At a fourth impact, several fuzes blew and filled the room with the acrid scent of a smouldering fire, followed by the equally unpleasant smell of the fire extinguishing agent.

"Captain," Tyler said. "Lieutenant Leighton reports severe damage to the phaser battery."

"Open channel," Lorca said. He had to snap an arm out to keep him on his feet as the newest hit found them. The rumbling was starting to come from below, too, an indication the torpedo impacts were doing some damage to the underground installation, too.

_"Sir?"_ Leighton came on on speaker.

"Status?"

_"We're down one phaser conduit, the second is overheating. Structural integrity of the power generators is compromised. We can't keep it up for much longer."_

"Keep it up for as long as you can," Lorca said. Tyler could've sworn he expected Lorca to append an evacuation order, tell them to abandon the phaser battery when it became non-functional and return to the base. 

There was an audible silence at the end of the line, perhaps because Leighton expected something similar, too.

Lorca turned his head slightly, enough for Tyler to catch the side of his face and make an educated guess about his expression. He _knew_ they expected him to allow them to save their lives at the end of it. He knew and he had deliberately done none of it.

"Open communications to all units," Lorca said instead.

"Ready, sir," Tyler said.

"Everyone, here's what we'll be doing next: The phaser batteries will strip the Defiant's shield away, we're taking some damage down here, but we're holding. Once the shields are down, the Defiant will most likely begin beaming shook troops to our locations. Let's not engage. We've got control of the New Anchorage public transporters. While they beam down, we'll beam up. We got the people to man a starship, so no need to spare anyone. Just don't damage the ship, we need it to get out of here. Hold yourselves ready. Lorca out."

An overheating warning became visible on the screen and Tyler was tempted to introduce a slight cool-down delay for the phaser to mitigate the effect a little, but he wasn't sure Lorca would allow it. Before he could decide to ask, Lorca said, "How's the Defiant doing?"

"Shields down to 38 per cent and falling, they have a few hull breaches and we've damaged their main sensor array. Shame we can't target the torpedo bays from here."

"Yeah," Lorca agreed, sounding somewhat resigned. As if on cue, a new impact shook them, harsher than before, making the lights go down again.

"Can we extend our shields?" Lorca asked.

"No, emitters have fixed range," Tyler said. "Unfortunately."

Placing the phaser batteries inside the city had always had some drawbacks. The installation's shields, when powered, were likely to disturb electronics and computers in the surrounding area, which had prompted the council back then to use the minimum they could get away with. The argument back then had been that the phaser batteries weren't the only line of defence and only meant as support for attack satellites and ships in orbit. How the council thought the Empire would even send ships to help them in case of an invasion, Tyler had never quite figured out. Tarsus had been one step away from being abandoned, after all. It must have been the primary reason why Lorca — the real one — had used this solar system to build a hidden base.

"Our shields are beginning to fluctuate," Tyler said after the last impact had shaken some of the internal wiring and taken out some of the emitters, leaving the others to struggle to keep up. The same problem the Defiant was suffering from, Tyler thought, quite ironically.

Another warning lit up on the console and Tyler added, "Lieutenant Leighton is evacuating the second phaser battery, it's gone off grid. We're on our own."

Which only meant the Defiant now knew where to focus her fire. Which was what happened almost instantly. The impacts began to fall constantly, although the torpedo impacts seized. Instead, the Defiant was targeting the area around them with short, but hard, phaser burst. Even without looking, Tyler knew the city around them would be a pockmarked wasteland by now. If the people had stayed in their nearby houses, they would be dead. He could imagine that panic had overcome the lockdown, making the inhabitants flee like rats to the outskirts of the city. He wondered if Kodos and the council were doing anything to keep order, whether Kodos truly intended to _be_ governor, or whether he felt his job was done with handing Lorca the reins. Either way, there wasn't going to be much left to govern on Tarsus IV once this fight was over.

"Defiant's shields at eight per cent and falling!" Tyler announced, finding a grin in his voice he hadn't expected there. He looked over at Lorca, expecting — or hoping — to find a similar expression there, but he looked grim, barely made eye contact with Tyler to acknowledge the news.

At some point, their air ventilation had cut out, and the air had turned thick and stale. No alarm had gone off, so it was still safe to breathe, but it was a tangible reminder that they were trapped underground and everything around them was exposed to constant battering.

"What about ours?" Lorca asked, instantly taking Tyler's spike of excitement down a notch.

"Eleven per cent and falling, fluctuating worse than the Defiant's," Tyler responded, collecting himself as the strain transformed his excitement into something darker. Those of the soldiers who had nothing to do but stand around and wait looked on edge, fidgeting on their feet and fingering their armour and weapons, desperately looking for something to occupy them to bear the pressure of impending death.

Tyler and the two in the targeting chair had something on their minds and under their hands, easily focussing on what was in front of them. Stealing a look at Lorca, Tyler was surprised that Lorca had noticed their anxiety, too and barked a sharp order in their direction to ready to fight the moment they could be beamed to the Defiant. Their uncoordinated fingering turned into a much more concerted series of preparation movements, checking armour straps and weapon holsters.

Something in the sound of constant battering was changing, the crunching of the wall sounded thinner now, the hiss of the generator becoming louder and the overheating gauge crept closer and closer to critical. The Defiant had returned to bombarding them directly. In fact, ever since Lorca had given the order to directly target their phaser muzzles, the Defiant was doing the same, imitating what was a potentially devastating tactic. Technically, shields were perfectly capable of working one way only, allowing a torpedo or phaser blast to pass through while simultaneously deflecting everything coming, but given the damage the distribution grid had taken, the phaser trajectory through the shields was a weak spot.

He wanted to say as much, he didn't know how to compensate for it on the fly. He was familiar with the phaser battery, but he was neither engineer nor computer expert. But he wasn't even sure anymore what Lorca was and if there was anything he didn't know or couldn't do.

Tyler took a breath to voice the warning when he saw the alarm flare up on his console, a split second before the howl of the siren filled the room as it plunged first into darkness and then into the blood-red hellfire glow of emergency lighting.

The Defiant's phaser cut through their shields, mimicking their own phaser blast perfectly. They were firing at half-power, the Defiant was not, so the power ate itself down into the phaser muzzle and into the system below, all the way into the generators just beneath their feet.

Explosions ripped apart the floor and the roof at the same time, chunks of concrete the size of shuttles propelled into them, the blast of the weapon and the heat of the radiation burning through those unfortunate enough to stand on that side of the room.

Tyler's senses went out one after the other. First, there was blackness, crushing him and he heard himself screaming through the roaring and shrieking of the destroyed building collapsing. He knew he blinked, tried to bring his hands up to shield his eyes or his head. The world spun, even though he couldn't even see anything. His body should be in pain, and, somewhere distantly, there was, the console forced into his rips, breaking them, the heat on his back, the sharp, twisting feeling where his leg attached to his hip. His body went numb, senses scattering. The air in his lungs felt like tar, rough and sharp-edged. The last to go was his hearing, filling his head with the unspeakable noise, mounting until he thought his eardrums would burst, the all-encompassing white-noise of it almost soothing in the chaos, dragging him under.

* * *

Concrete and metal rumbled from far away. He didn't feel the great weight pressing down on him until it was suddenly lifted off him and his lungs sucked in hot, dry air, coughing him into consciousness and the pain it contained. 

Some of the emergency lights still shed an ominous glow, so dull he wasn't even sure he could see in it at first.

"Tyler? You still alive?"

Lorca's voice came scratchy and low, close to his head and Tyler managed to focus on the man above him, making out the details of his features faintly in the gloom.

"Probably not, sir," Tyler croaked. He tried to move and the pain shot up the side of his body, from his leg to his shoulder and into his neck. His chest hurt and his breathing rattled uncomfortably. It felt as if his heart-beat was jostling his broken ribs around.

Lorca dredged up a weak smile. Dust and dirt and soot had painted his face, though the dark streaks could just as well have been blood, colour perception all thrown off by the light.

"Some of the coms still working?" Lorca asked and Tyler pondered where the man got the energy from. If not for the low tone and rasp, he sounded barely any different than before.

Tyler struggled up, miraculously still in his seat by the console, though the thing was completely dead in front of him. His attention slipped past it, too, barely able to hold his interest in his addled state. Instead, he looked at Lorca, found him leaning heavily into a piece of debris, watching him in turn, each trying to assess the other's state. Some small and metallic glinted in Lorca's neck, the Rush pin he hadn't bothered to remove.

Doing his best not to agitate his hip as he moved, Tyler reached down to his belt and pulled out his communicator. The Defiant would be able to zero in on it the moment it was activated, but it was the only device they still had.

"That's the best I can do," Tyler said, knowing full well what it meant. Perhaps… _perhaps,_ they could get someone on the line fast enough who'd beam them back to the base, where Culber could patch them up and the survivors from the Buran had hopefully dug into a defensible position. If they were too slow, or whoever operated the transporter was slow to respond or out of commission like they were, then Maddox would have exactly what he had come here for. Or at least, he'd have something almost as good in his hands.

The room rumbled again, more pieces falling from the ceiling across the room, where the initial breakdown had occurred, it ate through what remained of the structure, metal beams slowly coming loose. Something above in the dark, where they couldn't see it, snapped. The suspension from the phaser canons coming apart under some unseen pressure, cutting down through the building like a giant whip.

Lorca tried to jump away, but he wasn't fast enough, wasn't graceful enough, tripped on something on the floor or his body wouldn't quite follow his directions anymore. The cable cut down through the boulder he'd been leaning against, right past Tyler's console, slicing across Lorca's face and square across his chest, hip and upper thigh before it left a gash in the ground.

Despite his own injuries, Tyler managed to get to his feet, even as Lorca stumbled back and dropped boneless into a heap of debris. Wary of more sudden damage, but fully aware that he couldn't do anything against it, Tyler hobbled over to Lorca, surprised to find him conscious, although just barely.

Even in the glow, the blood welling up from the long cut was obvious, coating the smooth layer of the armour on either side of a deep gash. Not just blood was welling free, Tyler realised, the cut had gone deep into Lorca's gut, internal organs squeezing through the gaping wound.

Lorca's fingers dug fervently around his chest, looking for purchase in the material and slipping. His breathing was panicked, too fast, wheezing. He was blinking rapidly, fighting unconsciousness and trying to get the armour material to close over the injury as a makeshift bandage.

Carefully, Tyler edged forward, lowering himself next to Lorca, wincing in pain. He tried to hold the other man's gaze, but Lorca clearly wasn't aware of him anymore. His head lolled back, eyes drooping closed.

Urgently, Tyler said, "Trust me, please."

Lorca keened. His hands slipped away from his torso, falling limply by his side and a shudder went through his prone body.

Tyler opened the communicator against on edge of concrete, too tired to flip it open and unable to bring his second hand up.

"This is Commander Tyler," he said, took a shaky breath. "Calling the ISS Defiant. I can give you Gabriel Lorca if you..." he lost his voice, swallowed dry to get it back. "If you beam us up right now. Or all you'll get is his corpse."

There was no response on the communicator, but a moment later, the transporter beam engulfed Lorca. Tyler gargled a laugh, deeply unsurprised by their attempt to get _just_ Lorca, without Tyler attached. He had seen it coming, reached out a tired hand and clutched Lorca's shoulder even as it disintegrated.

The transporter beam sizzled between them, seemingly reluctant, but then reached out to Tyler and whisked him away alongside Lorca.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reference:_ "A syllogism; other men die. But I am not another: therefore I'll not die." — Pale Fire, Vladimir Nabokov
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Author's Note:** Late as ever, shorter than the ohers, no naked Lorca, way too much action and a cliff-hanger ending. I'm truly sorry for this mess.  
>  Though, next chapter is slated to fix most of the above issues, so there's something to look forward to.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 02/February/2019_


	9. The Knowledge of Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sorts of warnings apply for this chapter, but if you've made it this far, there's nothing you can't handle.

_The reception had been dragging on for barely an hour, but Lorca found himself already drifting to the edge of the hall, tired of mingling and unhappy with his one drink in hand, which he couldn't down because then he'd get another. And another. Wasn't there supposed to be a speech? And a buffet, he distinctively remembered joking with his team about that. It wouldn't do for the only representative of Starfleet far and wide to get completely shit-faced, though._

_He sighed inwardly, shifted his weight from one foot to another and set his glass to his mouth without more than dipping his lip in._

_"You know," Balayna said, coming up behind him, sliding both arms around his waist. "What I like more than you in dress uniform?"_

_He swayed a little in her embrace, half-turned, but she stopped him with a quick reach for his arm. She raised herself on her toes to bring her face closer to his and from the corner of his eyes he could see her smirk._

_"You out of dress uniform," she chuckled._

_And didn't that sound promising right about now. He let his shoulders hang and muttered, "We could've just stayed home."_

_She laughed, let go of his waist and took a step back, sliding her hand into his and gripping tight. She tucked him along through a side door and into the dimly lit, deserted hallways of the colonial offices building. He couldn't be bothered to put up even token resistance, though he vaguely hoped no one was going to catch the only representative of Starfleet far and wide with his pants down._

_Balayna made a beeline for a small, clearly unused office with a couch set against one wall and — thankfully — had the presence of mind to engage the lock behind her._

_"So you planned this?" he asked, pulling her into his arms tightly and walking her slowly backwards until they hit a desk. The hand she had wound around his neck tightened, fingers and nails leaving tiny pinpricks of sensation on his sensitive skin. Following her unspoken demand, he slanted his head over her and met her hungry kiss._

_"You need to go out more. Thought I'd reward both of us for the effort," she laughed and settled her other hand to the clasps of his uniform jacket over his collarbone, slim fingers making short work of the clasps._

_Lorca screamed in pain._

The sound of his own voice brought him back, followed by a wave of pain so intense it caused a wave of nausea to crash over him. His body tensed, some confused fight or flight instinct unsure what to do next, but single-minded that he had to do something.

He was bathed in light, washed out shapes all around him, making him float, isolated, just him and the pain and the inability to move his body.

Then something cold pressed against the side of his neck and there was a low hiss just before his body lost all weight, senses drawing back from the surface of his skin and from his suffering flesh. He took a breath, shaking all the way through. Blinking in the hopes to clear his vision, but when he closed his eyes, they just stayed closed

"He doesn't deserve anaesthesia," a man said with spite and repressed fury dripping from his tone, easily crossing the little distance he was standing away.

"I agree, Captain," a woman said from right next to him, sneer thick in her voice. He couldn't turn his head and his eyelids were too heavy to lift. "But it would be unprofessional to perform surgery without proper precautions. The shock alone would kill him."

There was a tiny pause while Lorca sunk deeper into himself and the bright light dimmed.

The angry man's voice came from very far away, unable to hide his displeasure. "Agony booths are ten times worse than this."

"Agony booths are specifically designed to keep the subject alive," the woman said. "As you well know. _Sir._ You can torture him _after_ I've saved him. I have a few ideas myself, but I suspect it'll have to wait until the Emperor is done with him. Not that I expect there to be much left after that."

The man growled in impotent frustration. The sound followed Lorca under, a thin line anchoring his fading mind to the present and the inexplicable pain it held. But somewhere, deeper in his unconsciousness, there was the memory of Balayna to hurl himself towards. At least it was a familiar and welcome suffering.

* * *

Patched up, with a generous layer of painkillers and dressed in a fresh, terran uniform, Tyler sat uncomfortably on one side of a large couch, sinking deep into its cushioning despite trying to maintain some sort of upright posture. On the other side of the couch, with too much meaningful space between them, Cadet Moreau looked young and doe-eyed. 

They were in Captain Maddox's private quarters, though Tyler didn't understand the divergence from procedure and couldn't quite bring himself to consider it a good sign.

Maddox had offered fresh food and drinks for both of them and Tyler was doing his best to enjoy the rich, textured bourbon he'd been given.

Across from them, perched like a wildcat on the edge of a glass desk, Maddox watched them with hungry eyes and amiably barely skin-deep. In the shadows behind him, his first officer, Ina Grife, stood with her arms crossed over her chest, silently watching them all.

"I know how this looks," Tyler said, voice hard and meeting Maddox's probing gaze without flinching. "And… I have to confess… I did suspect treacherous activity on Tarsus, but before you showed up, I didn't realise the extent of it."

He gave Moreau a short glance and said, "I knew some of my subordinates were funnelling information the wrong way, but you know how it is," he said to Maddox, looking for some commonality. "A commanding officer stands out like a sore thumb in certain place. Cadet Moreau can go where I can't and ask all sorts of suspicious questions. She helped me infiltrate what turned out to be a network of deep cover agents, all serving the traitor Lorca."

Maddox's expression barely changed and Tyler didn't like his silence. He was clearly not as riveted by Tyler's narrative as he had hoped. However, Tyler noted that Grife had shifted forward, listening closely.

"The Empire needed to know," Maddox only said, no indication at all he was the one frothing at the mouth at the promise of Lorca's blood.

"I know," Tyler said but didn't cast his gaze down. "I know _now._ But then, things had already gotten out of hand and moving too quickly. All I could do was improvise and hope I'd get an opening."

Maddox only nodded, thoughtfully looked over at Moreau while Tyler continued to spin his story. Tyler resisted the urge to check up on Moreau himself. It wouldn't do to advertise his anxiety in a situation like this, especially if too much of his story hinged on Moreau eventually backing it up.

Tyler thrust his chin forward proudly and said, "I got my opening and I delivered Lorca to you."

Maddox made a low sound in his throat. He said, "Yes, you did. But before that, we lost two imperial starship and their crews, many terran lives were lost in New Anchorage."

He made a small gesture with his hand. "Even my own Defiant has suffered extensive damage. Who should I blame for that?"

This, at least, was easy to answer. "You have him in the brig, now," Tyler said, pointedly. "I'm sure the Emperor will punish him as he deserves."

The glimmer of an emotion stole itself on Maddox's face then, possibly slowly coming to the realisation he really did have his hands on the one man he had wanted to. Except, of course, Tyler had also reminded him that he owed allegiance to someone else and nothing of this was his to do with as he pleased.

"He killed my sister," Maddox said unexpectedly, looking at Moreau again. "Or worse, he sent her to her death and didn't even care. He'll pay."

"Aye," Tyler agreed. "He'll pay."

Maddox tilted his head. "Cadet," he said. "Is this how it happened?"

"Sir," Moreau said and shifted, the movement transferring through the plush and Tyler looked at her, watching her profile and for once she seemed serious and deferential in ways she'd never bothered towards Tyler.

"Forgive me, maybe I'm too young," she said with a slight smile. "But I always thought ambition was no crime in the Empire. Commander Tyler has always served the Emperor. I'm proud of what we did. And what we achieved."

Demurely, she cast her gaze down and letting her voice go a little thin when she added, "And forgive me for speaking so freely, sir."

Maddox gave a gracious shrug and said, "Youth has its privileges, cadet."

He swung himself upright, standing tall over the two of them and despite the warmth he still couldn't help but show towards Moreau, he wasn't completely convinced of the story, partially almost certainly because he didn't _like_ it. If this was the story he relayed to the Emperor, if this was the triumph that would spread through the Empire far and wide, he wasn't going to be the hero of it.

"The Emperor has the last word," he said. "But you will be treated as guests on my ship until the matter has been resolved, I trust you will conduct yourself appropriately."

The dismissal hung in the air, almost too long, when Tyler stood up and saluted. Following his lead, Moreau did the same.

"One last thing," Maddox said. "What is Lieutenant Leighton's role in all of this?"

"I wish I knew," Moreau snorted, then gave Tyler a quick look as if to assure herself her speaking out of turn wouldn't be punished by him. In fact, of course, she was doing it to reassure _Tyler_ he could trust her with this.

Moreau said, "Tommy — Lieutenant Leighton — was strange from the start, you know? I think he's a little weird in the head, he was on Tarsus during the famine ten years ago. I… that is, Commander Tyler thought he was up to something, so I befriended him, but… I'm not sure what's really on his mind most of the time."

Maddox nodded, took a step forward, prompting Tyler and Moreau to walk to the door. The sensor picked them up and slid open silently. Tyler met Grife's gaze, the gloom in which she stood making her expression hard to read.

In parting, Maddox said, "We'll see what he says when it's his turn in interrogation."

Carefully schooling his features, Tyler left the Captain's Quarters with Moreau. The door closed behind them and Tyler allowed himself a moment of relief.

Only to freeze again instantly, with Moreau's hand on his arm drawing his attention back to her. The little girl of a moment before was gone, replaced by the kitten with a mouse between her teeth.

"You owe me now," she mouthed with a smirk, then left him standing there.

* * *

When Lorca woke up next, the bright light was back and his body's ache was stark proof that command of it had been returned to him. His reflexes kicked in, long delayed and useless and even dangerous, but that pulled him up, told his primal survival instinct that it was never too late to get into the fight. 

He sat up and the pain shot through him and he toppled sideways, off the narrow bed he'd been placed on, tangled in a thin blanket.

He groaned, his reasoning abilities telling him belatedly that this hadn't been a very good idea and it would be better to stay put until he figured out where he was and what exactly had happened.

So he forced himself to keep still and open his eyes slowly, giving them time to adjust to the brightness, get a sense of his surroundings.

He was back in a cell, a small, smooth cubicle with a narrow slab protruding from the wall. The bed he'd fallen from and now was leaning against. He'd dislodged the blanket, tangled it around himself and something soft and lumpy was pressing against his thigh underneath it.

Across from him, a similar slab was occupied by Lieutenant Leighton, who was watching him attentively, sitting up straight, visibly uncertain if he should offer help or not. Dressed in shapeless prison-garb, he was squinting in the bright light, one hand raised to shield himself at least a little.

Lorca groaned again, rubbed his hands down his face then finally glanced down to his chest. A line cut down across it, freshly closed and unnaturally smooth. Over his collarbone and chest, it was just a narrow cut and the skin pulled uncomfortably tight when he moved his shoulder. Below his sternum, the cut suddenly widened to a deep gash square across his stomach. Even after being treated, the edge of the injury was blurry and angry, spreading out across his stomach. He traced his fingers over it, carefully applying pressure as if it would allow him to gauge the depth of the wound. He was surprised he didn't immediately scream again, the pain sat deep inside him, but it wasn't unbearable. A wave of nausea rushed into his throat at the wrong move. He supposed it was his intestines settling back where they belonged.

Letting his hand fall away from the wound, he took a few deep breaths to steady himself and waited for the nausea to go down.

"Got to hand it to your doctors," Lorca said. His voice was rougher than he had expected, throat hurting from the effort. "They know what they're doing."

He took another breath and let his hands fall idly by his side and looked at Leighton. He tilted his head at the young man and when he had his attention, said, "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Leighton said. "We left the bunker and planned to head to the transporters, but we got ambushed on the way."

He paused, considered, then added, "I don't know what happened to you. Communication was lost. But I can guess the phaser battery was destroyed."

"Yeah," Lorca confirmed, although the memory of it was distant and out of focus. He looked around the cell, same design as the one on the ISS Buran had been, same as on the asteroid base. Terran design, nothing to fight with, no creature comfort at all. Just the thought of being stuck in one of these again made him feel worse than any injury.

"I take it we're on the Defiant?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many of us are up here?"

"Hard to say," Leighton answered. "But it's standard procedure to keep prisoners isolated when possible."

How many holding cells did the Constitution class of ships have? They were deep space exploration ships, they had to be prepared for all sorts of events, even a full-scale mutiny or being boarded which could result in a large number of prisoners. There was no telling what alterations the terrans had done, but he suspected they had a much greater need for holding cells.

Well, Lorca thought, he had wanted to get his soldiers onto the Defiant and Captain Maddox had done exactly that. He had done a good job at containing them, though, at least for now.

"Where's Commander Tyler?"

"I haven't seen him."

Lorca nodded to himself, considering the implications of Tyler's absence.

Setting his hand up on the bed, Lorca pulled himself to his feet, disentangled himself from the blanket and carefully tried stretching his body. Still very little discomfort from the injury, but the trauma preceding it had left his muscles tense enough it felt like they would just snap at the slightest pressure. He thought of Mirak, his CMO on the Buran and the vulcan's arched-eyebrow advice that he needed to take better care of his body. Pushing to his limits as a matter of habit wasn't something he could sustain indefinitely. _It won't have to last that long anyway,_ had been his dismissal.

"How long was I out?"

"About twenty hours."

Lorca scowled at the thought of all the things that could've gone down in that span of time, all the things that could've changed. All the pieces he had managed to get into place could be displaced, leaving him with less than what he'd started out with.

He picked up the blanket and shook it out, only for a pile of clothes to fall back to the floor. He slipped on the trousers, but when he picked up the shirt, something heavy stuck to the front caught his attention. He sat down on the bed to inspect it. The device was the size of a large button. When he brushed his fingers over the inside part of it, soft barbs tried to hold on to him.

He gave Leighton a questioning look.

"Personal agonisers, sir," Leighton explained. "It's a captain's decision if he demands his crew to wear them and how they're worn. The fibres burrow into the skin. It's painless unless the agoniser is activated."

Lorca stared at Leighton and at the button resting on his chest. He hadn't seen this on the other Lorca's people, so either his counterpart thought he didn't need it or he preferred to attach it somewhere less obvious.

He refrained from asking Leighton why he had put the shirt on, knowing what it would mean down the line, but balled his own up in his fists and tossed it into a corner. If they wanted him to wear this, they would have to come down and force it on him, there was nothing he could really do to stop them, but he certainly wasn't going to hamstring himself.

Mindful of the injury, he moved slowly as he sat down on the narrow bed, then swivelled around so he could lay down. He tucked his arm under his neck and wrapped the thin blanket over his torso, though it hardly seemed to make a difference.

He would've dozed off, but it was still uncomfortably bright in the cell. He tried laying his arm across his eyes and it helped somewhat. He couldn't imagine what Leighton would be going through, though. If even he found it too bright, it would be torture for a terran.

It would be quite the point, he thought.

When he took his hand away from his eyes and turned his head towards the younger man, he found Leighton hadn't moved at all. He was still huddled together, head down and a hand pressed over his eyes with so much pressure, the sinews stood out sharply all the way down his arm.

"Lieutenant Leighton," Lorca said. The young man's response to the voice of his superior was immediate. He didn't take the hand away, but he lifted his head and sat up straighter.

"Sir?"

"You did a good job down there," Lorca said. "You took the public transporters and you held the second phaser battery."

"But it's the result that counts."

Lorca felt a smile tug on the corners of his mouth. "That's what they say when they don't understand how the galaxy works. Everyone fails. Today… well, yesterday, I suppose, there was barely a chance we'd make it this far at all. Everything we've achieved we achieved against the odds."

Leighton looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't quite dare to and so kept silent.

Lorca sighed inwardly. A Federation officer would've simply asked to speak freely to get everything off their chest. Lorca had always taken it as a necessary step to clear the air, especially after a failure.

He let a few moments pass before he said, "I lost the same ship twice."

Leighton made a small movement, indicating he was listening but didn't know what to say or even if he was supposed to say anything.

"My Buran in my universe and the one here," Lorca added.

Leighton made a small sound in his throat as if he wanted to speak, so Lorca kept still to not interrupt him.

"It's hard to imagine," Leighton finally said. "A different universe…? What's it like?"

Despite the situation, despite the memory of the Buran burning up, despite everything, Lorca had to laugh. It hurt, but it felt surprisingly good.

"You're the first person to actually ask that," he said. It wasn't quite true, Irsa had asked how slavery worked where he was from and had been unable to comprehend that there wasn't any, but this was a question of a much larger scope.

"Peaceful," Lorca said. It had never quite seemed like that to him, there had always been some fresh chaos waiting to break loose somewhere. Some disaster, some diplomatic fallout, some hitherto unknown pathogen discovered which threatened to wreak havoc on a planetary colony. He'd come from a _war_ with the klingons, of all things. But he realised now that peace wasn't necessarily the surrounding circumstances but a state of mind. And he hadn't understood just how much at peace with himself he had been, baggage and all.

"But you're a war leader," Leighton said, genuinely puzzled.

"The difference is that I don't want to be," Lorca said. He'd spent his entire career burying any negative urges under layers of duty and protocol, wrapping himself in Federation principles and Starfleet guidelines. Every moment he spent in this universe was stripping away another piece of it, laying bare the anachronistic savage underneath. It was a _lie._ He wanted to be that war leader, he excelled at it, he even _enjoyed_ it far more than he would ever admit to.

"Here's the thing, lieutenant," Lorca said. "I don't give a shit about your, or anyone's, past failures. You get up, and you keep going. It's all it takes, you just keep going longer than your enemy. That's what victory is."

He lifted his hand and rapped his knuckled against the wall of the cell. "We needed to get on board the Defiant. There's no other ship and here we are."

Leighton lowered his hand just enough he could really look at Lorca.

Lorca said, "The next step is taking her."

* * *

By the time Tyler finally got the opening he needed, the residue of painkillers had left his system and he felt sore and tired, painfully reminded at each step he took of the damage his hip had suffered. Still, the moment he stepped out of his quarters, he refused to let it show and allowed the wave of pain to rush through him as he walked. 

Damage to the Defiant was much more extensive than Tyler had expected from just the sensor readings he had seen. Lorca's aim had caused damage to nearly all systems, most of them non-essential to the immediate survival of the crew, but they needed to be fixed if the Defiant was to function. Early on, Tyler had learned that showers were among these non-essential systems. Heating was patchy and off in my crew quarters, many computer consoles had been taken offline to prevent overstrain on the mainframe. Repair crews were almost everywhere, to the point that their numbers had been bolstered by security and combat personnel, just to get everything fixed.

Tyler couldn't have wished for better conditions. Even if they wanted to, it would've been nearly impossible to keep Tyler under surveillance without outright confining him to his quarters. He was free to move and generally, he wasn't paid much attention.

It didn't mean he could simply waltz into the brig without opposition, though. Here, repairs had been a priority to house all of Lorca's people who had been picked up from the surface. They were all currently in holding cells because the chief engineer had vetoed the use of agony booths, due to the fragility of the power distribution.

None of which would help Lieutenant Leighton much when he was led out of the cell to be taken into interrogation. They wouldn't be too rough to him, but without an option to brief him on the story Tyler and Moreau had concocted, there was no telling how the interrogators would proceed when they realised he wasn't saying what they expected him to. Moreau had done her best to offer an obvious explanation: Leighton wasn't mentally sound. But if the interrogators would leave it at that was anyone's guess.

Tyler used a break in the guards' routines and their thinned out ranks to steal himself into the brig just after Leighton had been taken away.

He made his way to the cell, where Lorca was now alone.

Lorca was lying on the narrow bed, arm thrown across his eyes against the ever-present glare. He seemed to be trying to sleep, but the tension carved into his face betrayed he wasn't getting anywhere. His injury had been far more severe than Tyler's, even with the best treatment, he'd be suffering and while the Defiant's doctor had been strict about procedures, neither she nor the other medical staff would've been inclined to give Lorca more than the absolute minimum in painkillers.

Tyler deactivated the forcefield and stepped into the cell.

The sound alone made Lorca sit up, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he did, swiftly replaced by calmly-controlled fury. Tyler guessed Lorca was withholding judgment on Tyler's loyalties until he knew something tangible, but he was distinctively leaning more towards betrayal.

Tyler didn't say anything, keeping his gaze fixed on Lorca while covertly judging the angles the surveillance would have and how to best circumvent them. Lorca had, apparently, disdained the shirt and — Tyler supposed — the personal agoniser. That it hadn't been remedied was a clear indicator of just how much chaos engulfed the Defiant.

With a scowl at his own pain, visibly annoyed at looking up at Tyler from his seated position, Lorca stood up. Standing so close already in the small cell, he still had to look up at Tyler, though the tilt of his head was challenging.

Tyler couldn't give him any warning, if he had, he could just not have done anything at all. He charged forward, picked up Lorca's shoulder — on the uninjured side — and pushed him into the wall before the other man had a chance to defend himself. Surprise and momentary confusion flared in Lorca's eyes. With his mind still on the monitoring devices, Tyler leaned down and brushed his lips over Lorca's, dry and passively pliant and Tyler was surprised at the sudden, involuntary sharp inhale down his body.

"Play along," Tyler hissed in Lorca's ear. _"Listen."_

For a split second, nothing else happened. Tyler took another breath to say what he needed to say as quickly as he possibly could before someone saw what was going on and intervened, or even worse, got suspicious of them just standing there, barely touching, barely doing anything despite Tyler's aggressive opening move.

Something flashed in Lorca's eyes and it was neither surprise nor confusion the very moment he punched his fist into Tyler's side, right where his freshly healed ribs were. With Tyler already toppling, wheezing, Lorca stepped into his knee and then swiped the feet away from under him, dropping Tyler prone on his back on the floor.

"You still think this is a game to me?" Lorca snarled, taking a careful step around Tyler, eyeing him like a wildcat, deciding to toy with its prey some more. "You still think I'm _playing?"_

He followed it up with a kick in Tyler's side, making the terran curl in against the pain. Lorca took another step, close past Tyler, heedless of the way it exposed him to a counter-attack. Pushing through the fresh discomfort, Tyler tried to gain some distance and lever himself back to his feet. A rush of fury overwrote his every intention. If Lorca wanted to fight, Tyler would give him a fight.

Lorca didn't let him get up. He dropped down over Tyler, his full weight on his chest and straining ribs, one knee on Tyler's arm and the other caught in an iron grip and pinned to the floor next to him. Lorca leaned over him, much closer than before, expression unreadable beyond untethering fury, piercing gaze skewering him. Delicately, Lorca closed his hand over Tyler's throat, fingers digging into the sides of his neck and Tyler was already getting lightheaded, but found himself leaning into the touch.

"You better have a plan," Lorca whispered, his tone only slightly milder than before and his teeth following the outline of Tyler's cheek.

Tyler barely noticed the fight going out of him as quickly as it had come, didn't even realise that his hand had been freed before Lorca's other hand clamped down over his jaw, fingers digging painfully into the joint, forcing Tyler's mouth open to slip a finger inside.

Something scratched itself into Tyler's awareness, though, made him flinch back instead of forward even before his mind actually registered the shadow behind Lorca's shoulder. He wanted to give some warning, but by then it was already too late.

A security guard stabbed a baton into Lorca's back, delivering its charge and Lorca choked on a scream as his body locked up. The guard reached for him and hauled him off Tyler, kept the baton in skin contact to immobilise Lorca as he pummelled him into the corner next to his bed.

Tyler rolled back to his feet under the sardonic gaze of a second guard, standing closer to the door, baton ready in case she needed to interfere, but otherwise content to watch.

She looked at Tyler, "Are we saving you or was he giving you exactly what you wanted?"

Tyler squared his shoulders and gave her a disdainful look, refusing to be baited. Under even remotely normal circumstances, she would never have dared speak to him like this. Under normal circumstances, if she had been stupid enough, he would've taken that baton from her and given her a taste of it.

He glanced back at Lorca, who had struggled back to his feet, leaning into the wall and glaring at the guard. His stance and quick, sweeping look betrayed he was gauging his chances if he made a break for it. The guard remained unimpressed, though. He reached out with the baton, place its tip underneath Lorca's chin, pressing into his throat.

The guard kept it there, daring Lorca to try anything.

"Hey," the second guard called. "We got places to be."

Her companion made a derisive snort, dropped the baton down a little and pressed its tip into the angry red line of the fresh scar, just below the collar-bone as he activated it.

Lorca made a strangled sound, clearly trying to keep himself from screaming as his eyes went wide and his face blanched. He kept his teeth clamped shut so tightly, Tyler wouldn't have been surprised to hear them break.

The guard put pressure on the baton, slowly forcing Lorca to slide down in the corner. Only when he was huddled on the floor did the guard take the baton away. His face was set in a self-satisfied grin as he turned back. The second guard rolled her eyes, stepped outside and motioned Tyler to follow.

The two guards took Tyler between them, respectful enough not to touch him or even threaten him with the agoniser, but it was still clear he wasn't going to go anywhere they didn't want him to.

He heard the energy field coming back on as they left. He didn't dare steal another look at Lorca, in case he was under closer scrutiny than he knew.

* * *

Commander Grife was alone in the captain's ready room with her back to the door when Tyler was ushered in. The door slid closed behind him and he focussed on what was holding Grife's attention. 

The recording from Lorca's cell played on a large screen in front of her, the slight top-down view confirming that Tyler's judge of angles had, at least, been correct.

Watching it played back like this, Tyler was shocked to observe his own lack of reaction, the pathetic way he had allowed Lorca to manhandle him, offering barely even token resistance. He knew _why,_ but he also knew how it would look to Grife. At the same time, Lorca's attack looked much more vicious than it had actually felt. There was some minor relief in that. Lorca _had_ understood what was going on and his loud protestation notwithstanding, he had been playing alone. Just not in the way Tyler had expected.

"I served as navigator on the Buran, senior staff," Grife mused, more to herself than to Tyler. "Did you know that?"

"No, sir," Tyler answered dutifully.

"I transferred out," she said. "Before Lorca turned traitor. There wasn't any room to advance on the Buran back then. There was just Landry above me and everyone knew she was off-limits. Lorca would snap everyone's neck who dared lay a finger on her. And to get to him, I would've had to go through her. Close partnerships like this, they're difficult to break up."

She turned around to face him and smiled, though Tyler didn't know what it meant.

She said, "Well-placed trust can be just as powerful as misplaced trust. Don't you think?"

The recording came to an end and Grife dismissed the display with a wave of her hand, never taking her gaze off Tyler.

"Captain Maddox is in conversation with the Emperor," she said, offering an explanation he never would have dared demand. "I wouldn't interrupt them if we found a cardassian armada hiding under a crop field down there. I hope you know what he's doing?"

Tyler allowed himself a frown. This wasn't the conversation he had expected to be having after the incident in the cell. He suspected now she had been meaning to speak to him before she even knew what was going on. Coincidence, not suspicion. He allowed himself to relax a fraction.

She didn't wait for his answer and continued, "He's undermining you, of course. Think of it. Lorca has been his single goal for years since his sister died, but he couldn't go after the Emperor's right-hand man, no one's that stupid. But when Lorca turned traitor, he was suddenly fair game, but Captain Maddox never got even close. This is the first time Lorca is right under his nose and he can barely think straight anymore. And here _you_ are."

She made a wave with her hand. "The commander of a backwater planet nobody cares about. You have barely a handful of people under you, a bunch of farmers to monitor. You are nothing and no one."

She smiled to mitigate some of the sting of her assessment. It was all true, too, Tyler couldn't find it in him to bristle.

"And yet, here you are," Grife said. "Who do you think will be celebrated for this triumph? Well, I can tell you who Captain Maddox is seeing in his nightmares and it drives him mad."

Tyler cleared his throat and said, "His shortcomings are not my problem."

"I would agree, but who knows what he's saying to the Emperor right now? You could be a hero of the Empire and the Captain is singing your praises right now. Or you're a turncoat and a coward. Which one do you think is more likely?"

"I know what I did," Tyler said, amused despite the uncertainty of his situation at the complete truth of the utterly ambiguous statement. "I trust the Emperor won't be so easily deceived."

"Oh that's cute," Grife shook her head, impatience tinging her voice. "Are you really just such a schoolboy? So naive? So blind?"

She threw her head back and turned away to walk around to sit behind the desk, stretching out her legs casually.

"Do you have a better idea?" Tyler asked.

Instantly, her mood changed again and she grinned, leaning forward and folding her fingers in front of her, resting her chin in them.

"You need allies," she said simply. "Supporters. People who back your version of the story. Someone who'll stand with you until the dust settles and you can reap the rewards of your achievement."

"You would help me?"

"Sweet fucking mercy," she snorted. "Don't they teach you subtlety in this forsaken corner of the galaxy?"

"There's a time and a place," Tyler pointed out, unfazed. "You just spent ten minutes telling me how fucked I am, as if I didn't know it already. What's subtlety got to do with that?"

She removed her head from her hand and sat up straight.

"Let's not argue," she said with fake mildness. "I can make sure the reports sent home to the Charon are as accurate as possible. Not so clouded by Captain Maddox's passion, if you know what I mean. And when it's over and these just rewards are coming your way, I expect to be in your thoughts."

"Just that?"

"A captaincy would be nice. Maybe if the chair on the Defiant were to suddenly become vacant."

Tyler allowed himself a smile of his own, reassuring her. "I'll think of you fondly, commander."

"Good," she said. Her expression changed again and she said, "So, Lorca."

She glanced in the direction of the newly dark display as if it were just a conversation piece. "You want a go at him?"

Tyler was just glad she seemed to be completely convinced by the mere surface appearance of what had been going on in that cell. Tyler leered at her, "It's the least I should get out of this."

"Well, he's always been very generous with certain favours, I suppose it barely counts as a violation. I'll arrange something for you, just don't kill him. Or disfigure him too much, he's gotta look good for his public execution. And don't get yourself killed, either. I don't care what you do other than that."

Tyler smiled at her, the pretence of a commonality only she thought they shared.

"I wouldn't want to ruin your day like that," Tyler assured her.

"Good," she said, smiled but with too many teeth. "Because you need me more than I need you."

"Right now," he added, just to see what she would do if he started to push back.

"Fortunes change," she shrugged, letting the barb brush past her. "You should return to your quarters, I have work to do."

He saluted and retreated out of the ready room, surprised at the relief washing over him. Not only had his — possibly ill-advised — attempt to approach Lorca _not_ backfired, it had actually given him an opening and the opportunity for a much less rushed meeting. Things had certainly looked a lot bleaker mere minutes before. Fortunes changed indeed.

* * *

"Did Maddox speak to you?" Tyler asked. The lights were dimmed in his assigned quarters and he sat next to the door with his legs extended on top of the nearby computer console. It was basically all it was good for because the Defiant's systems were completely closed to him, less because he was a suspected traitor and more simply because he wasn't an actual crew member. 

Poised with her legs crossed under her on the other side of the door, Moreau chuckled.

"Not yet," she said. "But I got a message asking if I would join him for dinner tonight. I said yes, naturally."

Tyler weighed her words and her tone, tried out where to place her in this great, ever-shifting equation. Her closeness to Maddox, especially because he was the one seeking it out, was a definite advantage. But there was just no prediction what someone like Moreau would do with such access.

"It'll be good to figure out his mood," Tyler said. "Learn what he's said to the Emperor. And the results of Leighton's interrogation."

She only hummed in agreement and they fell into a silence which might almost have been comfortable.

In truth, if Leighton's interrogation had gone as badly as it could've, Tyler doubted the two of them would still be sitting there, unimpeded. It was too early to be sure, though. Leighton, like any member of Starfleet worth their salt, would be able to hold out under pressure and even torture for a while. Tyler would prefer him to be in fighting condition, but if they lost him, he wouldn't be sorry.

"Did you hear anything else interesting?" Tyler asked.

"A lot of chitchat," she said and he sensed her shrug, though he didn't turn to look at her. In the gloom of the room, she wouldn't have been much more than a dark outline anyway.

"We landed a lot of needle-stings, takes a ton of effort to repair anything and everyone's annoyed over it. I find that pretty interesting," she said. "They would've handled a catastrophic failure of their ship much better, but these inconveniences put everyone on edge. Was that the plan?"

"Sort of," Tyler said. "The plan was to strip the Defiant's shields, let them beam down their shock troops and beam up ourselves at the same time. We didn't want to really damage the ship, it's the only way out of the system before the Empire sends reinforcements."

"I heard Maddox is trying to stall the deployment of reinforcement," she said.

"Afraid he'll have to share the glory with even more people?"

She laughed. "It's pretty obvious. Maybe I should ask him over dinner."

No faint resemblance to his sister would save her from his anger if she did. But many things had changed in the last few days, and the one thing he had least expected was to find some common ground with Cadet Moreau to laugh, even if only a little at a less than funny joke.

"Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake," Tyler said. Without half the terran fleet breathing down their necks in a few days, this situation might still swing their way.

The door sensor chirped, and Tyler arched a disinterested brow when he said, "Enter."

The door opened and Lorca stepped inside with two security guards right behind him. His step didn't stutter despite the darkness as he walked further into the room. Starlight from the porthole was just bright enough to trace his outline. His hands were cuffed in front of him. On his bare back, low between his shoulder-blades, the small protrusion of the agoniser sat right over his spine. There was some medical concern over the placement of an agoniser right next to the spinal cord. Its attachment tendril could burrow deep enough, which not only caused the pain inflicted by the device to exceed normal parameters — they were disciplinary tools, not meant to cause total incapacitation and a trip to sickbay — the fibres had proven difficult to remove without causing nerve damage.

The guard startled at Tyler when he noticed him by the door, but caught himself when he said, "With Commander Grife's best wishes. We'll be back in an hour, sir."

"Thank you," Tyler said, leaning his head back into the wall to look up at them without otherwise changing his position. "And tell Commander Grife I won't forget her assistance."

"She'll be glad to hear that," the guard said. As he turned back to leave, he spotted Moreau and gave a dirty little laugh. "Have fun," he added and left, exchanging a meaningful look with the other guard.

When the door had closed behind the guards, Moreau said, "Now that everyone's reputation is completely ruined, what do we do next?"

At the centre of the room, Lorca turned on his heel, eyes narrowed at them. The time might not have been enough to allow his sight to adapt. Tyler had noticed he took longer to handle the gloom, probably a drawback of his lack of light sensitivity. Even so, he seemed to be digging his gaze right through Tyler's head after flicking his gaze over Moreau.

He lifted his cuffed hands and said, "Let's start by getting rid of these."

Although Lorca's tone seemed neutral, there was a low rasp in his voice, as if he was hiding a growl. Tyler supposed it was from screaming, but it triggered some instinctive, reptilian response deep in the recesses of his mind. He truly didn't _know_ anything about Lorca, barely served with him for a day. All he had, really, was the gossip and hearsay about the reputation of a completely different man.

There was no telling if this Lorca would take Tyler's decision to hand him over to the very enemy they had been fighting with pragmatism, or if he perceived it as a betrayal that deserved retaliation. What if the invasion of his privacy that Tyler had enacted went too far for him and was too intimate?

Not so long ago, Lorca had mocked Tyler's proclamation of never being afraid, and now everything had changed. The posting on this planet had made him soft and complacent. He'd convinced himself he was in charge of his life, willing and able to fight it out to the end, but in truth, he had simply been pampered and protected from the harsh realities holding sway elsewhere.

Tyler took his feet from the console and stood up, walked over to Lorca and the handcuffs he was still holding out. He keyed in the code and the cuffs snapped open. They would've rattled to the floor when Lorca brushed them off, but Tyler caught them.

Free of them, Lorca sucked in a deep breath and exhaled in a sigh.

"Thank you," he said and his scratched-up voice was barely audible. He let his shoulders hang as he stepped away from Tyler, found a chair and lowered himself into it slowly, looking suddenly small and tired.

"Do you think I could get a coffee?" he asked.

"The quarter doesn't have a replicator," Tyler said.

"I could take a trip to the mess and get you some," Moreau said, getting up.

Lorca must look really pathetic if even Moreau felt the urge to do something nice.

"No, don't," Lorca said immediately, though clearly frustrated at his own decision. "Let's not ruin their fantasies just yet."

He turned his gaze on Tyler and his voice regained some of its natural command. "You had a plan," he said.

"Not a very good one, I'm afraid," Tyler confessed. "We've got fifty-two soldiers in the cells. If we spring them and move quickly, we might be able to take the ship."

Lorca made a sound which took a moment for Tyler to identify as a chuckle.

"I'll do you one better," he said. "You told me this is a Constitution class ship. One of mine, you said."

He looked around the room. "And underneath all that paint, it's still a Federation ship and lucky for us, I'm a Federation captain."

"What are saying?" Moreau asked and earned herself a feral little smile.

"There's an override command hardcoded into the core system of every Federation ship. The only way to remove it would be to completely replace the computer hardware, which I bet you didn't bother with. If I get to the mainframe, I can take command of the entire ship."

He leaned a little towards Tyler and the angle of light changed just enough to make out the edge of his teeth in his smile.

"You see," he said. "Your double-dealing didn't just save my life, it got us almost exactly where we needed to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know how I'm supposed to write a character who's canonically "a bit boring". You'd think that'd be just my type, but I'm really at a loss.
> 
> Also, when I made that note on the last chapter, I swear I didn't yet know that Lorca would see the agoniser shirt and go "nope, I'm going shirtless for the rest of this." THAT WAS NOT THE PLAN!
> 
> * * *
> 
> **_Reference:_** "Deception is the knowledge of kings." - Cardinal Richelieu  
>  "Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." - atributed to Napoleon Bonaparte
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 02/February/2019_


	10. Captain's Prerogative

Ellen Landry hung in her chair in a colonial offices conference room, clutching a cup in her hand. Just forcing her hand to lift the cup to her lips so she could sip the metallic tasting concoction took almost all the bodily strength she could muster. The only thing burning through the feeling was her sheer hatred of the drug's hangover. Nothing else in her life ever made her feel so feebly debilitated. It wasn't the same as being overpowered, everyone could be _made_ weak, brought down to their knees. But only this damn drug made the deficiency come from within herself. There was no outside force to fight against and triumph over, or even to just submit to.

Nevertheless, she was glad Culber had pulled her from her near-comatose slumber the moment her injuries had been treated and she had responded to whatever other drug he had administered to put her back on her feet. She would claim she was in fighting condition, too, but she hoped no one would put it to the test.

Next to her, Kodos sat stiffly in his seat, PADDs laid out in front of him, in the perfect image of an imperial bureaucrat. She was surprised at how useful the type had turned out to be. The man seemed to know everything about the workings of the colony, every subsystem, every network node, every semi-public weapons' storage. Under his guiding hand the remaining soldiers, even the injured, had been beamed into New Anchorage, leaving that glorified outhouse they had had as a base abandoned. Now, the scattering field protected them against a direct invasion of Maddox's shock troops, though for how long was everybody's guess.

In fact, Landry was surprised Maddox hadn't taken the step yet. It seemed the most logical course of action. Having disabled the phaser banks, all he needed to do was get his troops down and finish them off. Something had happened that stopped him. Perhaps his ship had suffered worse damage than their sensors had been able to pick up — Maddox had methodically wiped out most of the satellites, making their data patchy — or he had received orders to stand down.

There was a chance he had some other, much grander plan that eluded Landry's understanding, but while Maddox was a competent enough captain, he was hardly a tactical genius. If he didn't take the most obvious step that lay right in front of him, someone else had altered his course.

"We're maintaining the lockdown, but it's getting brittle," Kodos said. "Some people have already fled the city and moved to other settlements. As governor, I've disabled all non-essential systems in other settlements, so their mayors can't do much but wait it out. They don't have the resources to move against us and I don't see any signs of organised resistance."

"Not yet," Ferasini said darkly from across the table. Landry turned bleary eyes on her and chuckled dryly to herself in agreement. The last thing they needed was an angry mob frothing at the mouth for their blood, but there didn't seem any obvious candidate to rally and lead a revolution.

"We have enough people under arms to maintain order," Kodos said. "The crisis will pass, they'll get used us."

Ferasini gave him a hard look, "We're not going to _govern_ here, _governor._ Surely you're aware that your appointment is barely more than a sham and it'll last as long as the rest of us on Tarsus."

Maintaining a composed facade against her acid, Kodos said. "I know how precarious our — my — situation is, but that's no excuse to be sloppy. The more efficient I keep control of the colony, the less we all have to worry about."

"Well, yes," Ferasini agreed. "But I don't want you to be disappointed later."

Running out of patience with the banter, Landry flopped her head to the side, letting it rest on her shoulder as she looked at Kodos, glad Ferasini was smart enough to understand the silent gesture and shut her mouth.

"How long until the rubble's cleared?" Landry asked.

"If we keep moving at this speed, a few more hours," Kodos replied.

Without life signs under the two destroyed phaser batteries, it seemed a waste of effort, as Ferasini hadn't been slow to point out, entirely correctly. Interestingly enough, they found barely any bodies, not enough to account for the people they knew had been in the control rooms.

Ferasini's jaw tensed.

"I still don't see how it matters," she said. "If the fake Lorca's dead, what use is he?"

Landry chuckled at the incorrect descriptor, but dealing with the parallel universes mess gave her a headache even on a good day. She remembered her Captain Lorca detailing it to her in the days leading up to the jump into the other universe. His enthusiasm had been striking and contagious, outlining all the possibilities his daring plan would afford. It had been the same as mere months earlier, when he had fallen in love, wholly, with the spore drive and its unique abilities. He'd stolen Stamets' entire lab just to get his hands on it and he'd gone to an entirely different universe just to keep it. It had never seemed worth nearly as much to Landry, wars could be won in simpler ways than what he envisioned. But then, his entire career was testament to an extraordinary fate, he knew no other way and he didn't need to.

Landry took a sip from her cup, letting the brew slowly rejuvenate her empty bones. "It matters a great deal if he's not dead. Why's Maddox not coming down here?"

Ferasini said nothing, frowned, visibly displeased at her own lack of insight. It wouldn't take long for her to figure it out, but Landry had no patience to let her get there on her own.

Landry said, "I bet Maddox has him, and I bet he's alive. And that's why Maddox's not coming."

"You think he's figured out the big secret?" Culber asked.

"Fuck if I know," Landry would've shrugged, but didn't find the energy. She took a longer gulp from the cup. What Maddox would make of that piece of news was entirely beyond her imagination, but she decided it would probably be an amusing sight.

Culber looked at Ferasini as he distinctly considered her potential stance on what he was going to say, but when he spoke, his attention was back on Landry.

"Have you considered this Lorca making a deal with Maddox?" Culber asked seriously "He owes us nothing, especially not loyalty."

It bore thinking about, certainly, but just the mental image of Maddox sitting down with Lorca, any Lorca, was almost enough to make her laugh. Still, Culber and Ferasini had had the most experience with dealing with the other Lorca, at least since he'd been unleashed and Landry didn't like either of them considering the possibility. She noted Ferasini, who was confrontational seemingly on reflex and instinct, not offering any contradiction at all. Indeed, the woman's pretty face had taken on a severe, thoughtful expression.

Landry rubbed a damp palm over her forehead. "I'm too tired to speculate," she decided. "Let's stick to the facts."

She looked around the table, found some hitherto unknown reservoir of strength to sit up a little straighter as she found some tenuous lifeline.

"Fact, the Defiant has stopped attacking us, but it remains in orbit. We don't know why. Damaged ship, orders from the Emperor, Captain Maddox has his one good plan this decade. Fact, we're stuck on the planet. Fact, we've got a pretty sweet set-up, the bunkers under the colonial offices can withstand a lot, so we can just dig in for a while, stay alert and be prepared for the worst."

"You know," Culber mused. "People keep using that phrase as if anyone can ever be prepared for the worst."

Landry emptied the last few drops from her cup and set it down, then flattened her hands on the table to help push herself to her feet. She took a breath, steadying herself and for a tiny second, she was impossibly glad to be surrounded by people who were on her side, whom she could trust just a little further than she could actually see them. They would not exploit her moment of weakness but instead carry her through. She observed the thought, floating through her tired mind and asked herself if she was already far enough gone to give them all a hug.

"I don't care," she said through gritted teeth. "Just be prepared."

She found her legs just about willing to carry her without swaying as she let go of the table. "And since we're playing the waiting game anyway, I'm going to bed."

She didn't even get as far as the door before Kodos said, "That can't be everything we can do."

If she'd been fresh, she would've swung around and got right into his face, but as it was, she found she didn't want to bother. Instead, she just slowed down and said, "Every soldier knows that sometimes staying put is the smart thing to do, sometimes even the _only_ thing. Wrap your civilian head around that and stop getting on my nerves when I need my beauty sleep."

She got another step before Ferasini's voice froze her in place.

"Unfortunately, there's something else," the scientist said. She sounded serious enough for Landry to warrant a turning around and a long moment of scanning the other woman's face and her stoic expression.

Landry grumbled, walked back to the chair and sat down. She reached for the cup, remembered it was empty and clutched it anyway.

"Let me show you," Ferasini said and took the PADD up from in front of her.

She opened a projection, hovering above the centre of the table, showing Tarsus' solar system. One after the other, Ferasini marked out Tarsus IV, where the asteroid base had been and the ring of the asteroid belt. Then she splattered in the last known location of the Khumaro and the Tarleton.

"The asteroid belt has been a source of concern for a long time. The asteroids' orbit brings them close to Tarsus and it's much less stable than a single, larger body would be. Even a small disturbance could knock a few rocks out of orbit. We've got a phaser grid that takes care of anything too large to burn up in the atmosphere, but there's always a chance that too many or a too large piece gets loose. In fact, there's a risk of a cascade effect. Statistically, the risk is minor, but…" she paused, looking from one to the other and Landry had the feeling everyone, herself included, already knew where Ferasini was going.

"There's been a lot shaken loose recently," Ferasini added. She changed the static display to animation and let them observe as the asteroid belt swung around the sun, more and more pieces dispersing away from their course as they collided with each other until, several revolutions in, a hail of them impacted the entire hemisphere of Tarsus. The next revolution brought the planet's other side into the still increasing shower.

"The asteroid belt has destabilised to the point where it's breaking up almost entirely. It'll form a new belt, eventually, or maybe even come together to become a moon, or both, but this," she flicked her fingers at the display, "is an extinction event."

"I'm more worried about Maddox's shock troops than a bunch of rocks," Landry said.

"I'm sure you understand the application of shock troops," Ferasini said, matching Landry's tone with a layer of arrogance. "But I have a pretty good understanding of rocks. I ran the prediction out of curiosity and it seems like I'm the only whose considered it so far. But the other settlements have the equipment to get this information and they have the scientist that can run the same calculations. It's no secret what has been going on above our planet. " she said and looked at Kodos. "We have one to two weeks until the impacts start. Even if the Empire sends ships, there won't be enough time to evacuate everyone. Such information is difficult to contain, especially in the current chaos. It'll leak and we'll have riots. We'll have hundreds of people trying to force their way on the only ship already in orbit and that's the Defiant."

"So we keep them from the transporters, what are they gonna do?" Landry asked.

Ferasini narrowed her eyes. "Yes, yes we will," she said as if it was obvious. "But normal security measures won't do it. I propose we arm the crowd control turrets, _right now_ , and start thinning out the population."

Culber said, "Sounds like the best way to start the riots early."

Landry rubbed a hand across her forehead. She rather wished Ferasini hadn't run that prediction or at least hadn't told her about it, because now she knew and therefore had to deal with it.

"Or we let the crazed masses fight for us," Ferasini said. "Let them take the losses and we move in after them."

"You can't direct a riot," Landry said. "It never works." The dying embers of her willpower flared up, warming her just a little and she added, "That's how you know it's a party."

She had no patience to wait for the lot of them to muster their contradicting stances on the matter. She knew how to value her subordinates', but the feeling beating through her hollow bones demanded inexorably she finish this and put her head down somewhere horizontal before she found where the limits of their bite inhibition were.

"Let's keep it on the down low for now," Landry decided. "Triple security on the transporters, they're vital. And let's make absolutely sure everyone knows the lockdown's still in effect. Anyone caught outside will be shot. But make it a hands-on thing, don't use the turrets unless we have to. I don't want to be caught out in the open without any way to escalate my response."

She turned her gaze to Kodos, who sat silent and stiff next to her, his attention still fixed on the hologram in the middle of the table, looping through Ferasini's model endlessly, cold horror trying to take over his expression.

"I'm sorry you won't get to stay governor here," Landry said to him and almost meant it. "We'll find you another colony. After Captain Lorca has returned, there'll be a lot of vacancies across the Empire ."

Kodos didn't seem appeased, but he nodded, smart enough to understand the implication of what he was looking at.

"I'll make sure the announcements get out," he said. "No one will misunderstand them."

Landry narrowed her eyes and looked around the table. "Is there anything _else?"_

Looks passed between Ferasini and Culber, a silent accord, or discord considering their relationship, but they both said nothing. Landry took it as either agreement or at least acquiescence of her decision. She wasn't going to be picky about which.

"Finally," Landry said, hated the thought of having to get up _again._ This time, she made it to the door without any more bad news.

She even made it to the room with the bed she'd woken up in. It was dark and cool there and her mind shut down before she even had time to stash her phaser under her pillow.

* * *

Even across the length of a dimly lit room, Lorca's gaze was arctic and penetrating, fixed on Tyler as he sat down on the desk and called Commander Grife. 

She snarled one word _"wait!"_ and closed the channel.

Tyler had no time to second-guess the tone of her voice. His attention was caught and held as Lorca stood up. There was a tiny pause as he straightened and a flicker of pain as the movement pulled along the length of his injury. Though, when the pause had passed, Lorca prowled toward him with measured steps, full of tightly controlled power and menacing intent.

Lorca's gaze briefly crossed with Moreau's, some connection sparking there only to dissipate again when Lorca fixed on Tyler.

_"Don't call on me like that,"_ Grife hissed, barely waiting for the chirp of the opening comm channel to pass. _"If the both of us want to have any advantage at all from this, I need to be seen as impartial."_

"I'm sorry, Co- - -," Tyler said and jumped, taking a sudden, deep breath when Lorca suddenly put his hands around his neck and dragged him back against him. In a panicked second, Tyler's mind ran through a million different scenarios of why Lorca would be attacking him when he realised there was no actual pressure behind the touch, merely weight. Lorca's skin was cool to the touch, but feverish underneath, fingers strong but hiding a distant tremor.

Tyler's mind grappled with making sense of the situation and found it easiest to just suffer it, confused between being petrified and mesmerised by Lorca's looming vicinity.

"- - -mmander," Tyler finished through a daze, his voice muted and strained and close to wheezing, when Lorca's grip suddenly tightened a fraction. He realised that instant what Lorca was doing, adding that measure of reality to whatever idea Grife might be having.

Against the increasing strain, Tyler croaked, "I need access to Lorca's personal agoniser…"

Lorca leaned in next to him, even it wasn't necessary for Grife to hear him and spoke in a darkly amused rasp that Tyler felt against the side of his neck.

"He's being difficult," Lorca said.

There was a momentary pause, then Lorca curled away from Tyler with a howl, back arching as if he could somehow get away from the agoniser latched onto his spine. Barely a second later, the pain impulse was gone, leaving Lorca panting, shoulders hunched forward and head hanging as a full-body shiver washed over him.

"Thanks," Tyler told Grife and she chuckled.

_"I'm giving you full access,"_ she said. _"Should've thought of it, sorry about that, but it's not like you asked."_

"My mistake, then," Tyler conceded, playing his gratitude up with a cough.

_"I'll be on the Bridge, you have any more problems, don't come to me. Grife out."_

Tyler made sure the channel really was closed before he stood up from the table and looked over at Lorca, who didn't seem quite as recovered as he should've been from just such a short shock.

"I still don't know how you people exist like this," Lorca muttered, more to himself than to the two terrans.

He looked like a man resigned to his own incomprehension, annoyed by it, but unable to find the will to fight it anymore. He flexed his shoulders in a failing attempt to relax the muscles the agoniser had tensed up.

"It always depends on what side you're on," Moreau said from the bed and leaned back on her elbows to watch him past her nose and a smile playing on her lips. She gave Tyler a meaningful look, probably thinking, like he did, of their last encounter before everything changed, when he'd made Leighton slap her. And the one _after,_ when she'd kicked him repeatedly. Looking at it through Lorca's eyes, these things really might seem excessive and twisted.

Lorca angled his head as if he could catch a glimpse of the device, but, flicked that cold gaze back to Moreau and said, "This just shows how weak you are. It's nothing but fear. It's got nothing to do with power."

Moreau shrugged. "Depends on what side you're on," she said again.

"Of course it's fear," Tyler said to Lorca. "Everyone here is shit scared of you."

And once again, the image of Lorca oscillated between Tyler's expectation of a terran commander and whoever he claimed to be. To be feared was an achievement, an honour only admitted openly to the rarest of warriors. What it meant to this man, Tyler couldn't even begin to guess. He didn't quite get the answer to it, either. Lorca's misgiving remained, barely mollified by what should've appeased him, but he did let the topic go.

Shaking his head, Lorca closed his eyes to gather himself.

"Can you get it off, now that you've got full control?" he asked, opening his eyes again, the residue of pain still swimming in them.

Tyler grunted uncertainly before he answered.

"Theoretically yes, but personal agonisers attached on the spine can be tricky. You don't want to suffer any nerve damage."

"So every dumb guard can flick my off switch?" Lorca asked sharply, though the hint of resignation betrayed how he had already suspected the answer.

"Not while Grife doesn't retract the privileges she's given me," Tyler said. "You're better off than Moreau and me."

"Pretty much everyone can give us a shock," Moreau added, contradicting every single word she said, as she continued to sprawl on the bed.

"But you've got to stay in here," Tyler said. "I don't know how closely Grife's monitoring us, but I don't want to risk it. The Defiant suffered extensive damage, so it was pretty easy to disable monitoring for this room. I switched it on and off since I got here. It'll just look like an outage caused by the damage. But the rest of the ship's off limits to you."

"How extensive is the damage?" Lorca asked instantly with a new gleam in his eyes and an eagerness in his voice. Tyler thought he could see the plan taking shape behind those eyes and it was hard to resist the lure of it, even unspoken.

"It's hard to be sure, but every section has been hit, repair crews are everywhere, but it doesn't look they'll be done soon," he paused and smiled a little. "Guards have been detailed to support engineering, too. They're thinner staffed than normal, probably across most of the ship."

"Mainframe and memory cores should be on deck seven on a Constitution-class ship," Lorca said. "Two decks up from here."

He bared his teeth, "Unless I miscounted on the way from the brig because of that damn thing on my back." A pause, a tilt of his head, narrowed eyes. "And there's a Jeffries access hatch just down the corridor."

"We can't risk them figuring out where we're going. All they've got to do is go to yellow alert for it to lock itself shut," Tyler said. "It's close, but if they catch you walking there… and I have no way of figuring out when and how long the monitoring is off."

Lorca nodded. "Sounds like we need a guard," he said. "They should be back in forty or so minutes."

He returned to the seat he had taken before and sat down, carefully as he relaxed around the pain and sunk deeper into the chair, extending his legs out and stapling his fingers in front of him.

"You two better look properly fucked by then," he said in a tone that implied it was absolutely none of his problem. He looked at Moreau when she sniggered at the remark and the implication, still poised on the bed and Tyler could tell she was going to offer to just _not play pretend._ He couldn't quite tell how much vitriol Lorca's response would've contained.

"We'll need weapons," Tyler said. Neither he nor Moreau had been allowed to keep theirs. It didn't exactly make him feel better about walking the corridors.

"The guards have them. We're three to two and they won't expect you."

"Yeah, well," Tyler said as he walked across the room to the footlocker at the bottom of the bed. He crouched down, catching an amused look of Moreau as he did, but opened the footlocker.

"I've been collecting," Tyler said and took out sheathed knives to lay them on the blanket next to Moreau. He reached in again for a set of phasers, extra charges as well as holsters for them.

Moreau leaned forward, cooing to herself as she reached for a dagger and pulled it out of its sheath, turning it in her hand to make the blade catch the light.

"I couldn't steal any poison," Tyler told her. The thin grooves in the blade were meant to facilitate poison delivery, but they now gleamed clean and empty.

By then, Lorca had walked over and glided his hand over the straps of the holster, a scowl crawling onto his expression. He took the holster and stepped away to slip it on. The strap on his right shoulder came to rest right over the beginning to the injury, the edge, though padded, chafing on sore flesh.

Tyler observed him, using the moment to look him over again, trying to determine how long Lorca was going to last. He couldn't quite stop himself from wondering what he would be able to do on his own. He might be able to execute his original plan, free the other prisoners and fight the Defiant's crew for control of the ship. They didn't have the numbers, though, and he doubted the element of surprise alone could make up for it. They had few advantages and Lorca was the one aspect Maddox would be unable to account for. But it only mattered if Lorca was able to make it through at all.

When Tyler looked away, he caught Moreau giving Lorca the same gauging once-over, her obvious scrutiny neatly covering for Tyler's. Her shameless, leering attention even got Lorca to respond, if only by tilting his head at her. One eyebrow twitched upward a fraction, but neither amusement nor offence made it to his eyes or face.

Moreau fell back into movement smoothly when she'd looked her fill, unconcerned at being caught like this. She took one of the holsters and put it on without getting up from the bed and the dagger followed suit.

"One more thing," Lorca said, having wiped any apparent signs of pain from his face. He'd somehow fixed his posture, too, not slumping to one side to ease the strain on his injury, or favouring one shoulder over the other to lessen the weight of the holster.

"Is that 'Grife' as in Ina Grife?"

"Yes, why?"

Lorca took his time answering. He strode for the door, picked the spot Moreau had occupied earlier to sit in the shadows, carefully leaning into the wall without putting any additional pressure on the agoniser or pulling on the straps of the holster.

"She plays the saxophone," Lorca said and didn't offer any additional explanation.

* * *

They were watching him, his two junior officers. Sharks with the scent of blood in the water who didn't quite trust they had found the prey it was leaking from. They were mapping and memorising every single movement he made, every involuntary twitch of muscle, every split second of hesitation as he waited for sudden pain to subside. No amount of self-control was going to prevent these signs from showing up. The injury had been too severe to hide completely. And worse, he was too susceptible to the agoniser's effect, it never quite ceased to echo through him, even after having been turned off for minutes or even hours. It wasn't surprising. The pain from the agony booth had been with him for _days_ afterwards.  

Their crude hunger and naked intensity were different, but even at home, any subordinate would put all their focus on their captain in a crisis. He was their rock to lean on, their centre of the storm. He had control, even when everything else fell apart. _Especially_ when everything else fell apart. The captain would stand his ground until it came apart under his feet.

The only real difference was the underlying dissent, the betrayal waiting to happen, the eagerness to drop him _before_ the very end and latch onto someone more successful. Though, even at home, these things happened, they just hadn't been built into the system. 

_Lieutenant_ Ina Grife had been the navigation officer on duty the night _Lorca_ took the Buran. He never learned her fate, except that she hadn't been among the surviving bridge staff. He raked his brain, but he couldn't even recall seeing her body, it must have been put on display somewhere he hadn't passed. And if he was honest, he had barely noticed the gory set-up after a time, too resentful of the scare tactic to validate it with attention. He should've honoured the victims, though, should've looked at them and remembered every single one of them. Instead, he'd been busy picturing what he would do to their killers only to end up in the company of people just like them.

He tilted his head and his eyes dropped fully into the shadows by the door. Acidly amused, he thought _how terran, can't stand the light,_ but he really was tired. Exposed to constant battering, mentally and physically, he wasn't sure how much of a rock he was going to remain… Something Balayna had said about wind and rain and crashing ocean waves slowly turning the sharpest of coastlines into an unending beach. He was being eroded and already he felt brittle enough to snap. The force of his will had been reduced to a single live-wire, responsible to tug every insignificant fibre of his being into action. And what strength remained after that he needed to stop himself from simply closing his eyes and letting himself fall back into the darkness to stay there forever.

He let time wash over him, unconcerned over the occasional pulses of fresh pain and the shards in the exchanges between Tyler and Moreau, the darkness soothing on his mind and his body beginning to feel the cold.

When time was up and the door opened to allow two guards inside, everything was instinct. He moved exactly as he needed to. Got hold of the guard nearest him, just when he was out of sensor range and the door slid closed. He punched the hilt of the dagger into the side of his head and knocked him off his feet. The guard kept struggling, shouting curses and somewhere, Lorca thought he didn't have the strength to keep this opponent down, his reservoirs had been depleted long ago. Still, he hit him a few times, the side of the neck, the cheek, the nose. And the guard eventually stopped fighting back, arms raised to protect his head, though he still had enough guts to snarl insults.

By then, Tyler or Moreau — Lorca barely cared who — had subdued the second guard. Lorca dragged his own to his feet with a grip at his collar. Still amused in a way that made Lorca think she needed a fist in her face, too, Moreau came over and slapped the handcuffs on one of the guard's wrists, then Tyler shoved the second close enough so the other part of the cuff could go on him.

They disarmed the guards and took their communicators, but most of their other equipment, especially their armour, fit none of them properly. Lorca tried on a pair of gloves, remembering how useful they had been in a knife fight, but he couldn't get them on. The guard nearest to him tried kicking at his legs. It was a clumsy attempt, easily evaded. Lorca tossed the gloves back in his face and turned away.

He was going to give the order to move out, but he remembered where he was so he said, "Kill them."

Behind him, Moreau and Tyler moved. He heard the sounds of a brief struggle, fresh curses and voices tipping from anger into hysteria at the very end. The guards voices faded into ugly gargling, their throats cut and their lives bleeding out fast. Lorca took a careful step away to avoid the spreading puddle of blood.

"Let's get moving," Lorca said, holstered one of the phasers and kept another in his hand, sparing himself the trouble of having to reload in the middle of a firefight. Although it was a short trek to the Jeffries tube access hatch and from there to the mainframe, Lorca refused to hope it was going to be any easier than anything else so far.

At least for the moment, Lorca's presence in the corridors wouldn't raise any alarms, when the systems checked his proximity to the guards' communicators and reasoned he was allowed to be out and about.

At the access hatch, Tyler and Moreau were watching him again, timing the tiny hesitation before he hauled himself up and inside the Jeffries tube, memorising yet another sign of weakness. He said nothing, not even an order to follow, because what else were they going to do?

Even assuming the Defiant had more sophisticated internal sensors than the ships Lorca was familiar with — _from your future,_ Landry had said — the Jeffries tubes were difficult to navigate for security guards and transporter beams alike. For a little while, they would be safe, but it was no opportunity to relax.

By some miracle, they didn't emerge from the Jeffries tube on deck seven into a fight and no alarm had been raised, yet. If Grife had been engineering Lorca's excursion to Tyler's quarters under the radar, it was quite possible she had only limited options to monitor his movements. Sloppy to be sure, but the Ina Grife Lorca knew — had known — had always had a single-minded focus which made her bad at multitasking effectively.

The Constitution line of ships had been conceived for deep-space exploration, but where Lorca knew labs and offices should be, they found additional crew quarters to house the numerous shock troops the ship's new primary focus of warfare.

A safe distance away from shift change, they didn't meet anyone at first, even in the very heart of the lion's den. In order to keep her machinations secret from as many curious eyes as possible, Grife probably had timed it just like this.

They crossed paths with few people in the corridors from the crew quarters to the mainframe and those unfortunate enough to cross their paths received a quick slash of a knife, so as not to set off a phaser discharge alert.

The irony of littering a starship corridor with sliced-up corpses was not lost on Lorca, but he didn't know what to do with it. What use would it be to second-guess the only decision he had been able to make? He'd always been good at doing what was necessary, at taking the hard choice right in front of him, at whatever cost there might be to pay later. He'd thought, years ago, he was ready for that. Better him than somebody else, better it was him with such a burden on his conscience. And there was another small part of him, which he had always carefully hidden away and dressed-up as measured and reasoned confidence, but he had no use for such modesty here. There was no one _better_ to make these choices in his mind.

Enough people in his own time and in the long and bloody past of the Federation worlds had fallen prey to the same misplaced sense of entitlement. It had been an abstract thought for most of his life, secure in the knowledge that he whatever dark urge he might have, it would be tempered and reined in by the entirety of the Starfleet brass. Of course, then he had seen and experienced who he was at his worst. And he had done nothing at all since which would disprove even a fraction of it. A better man would've taken his principles to the grave long before because the only moral choice left was to stop fighting.

Just outside the wide doors leading to the mainframe, Tyler and Moreau stopped in their tracks and broke down screaming and everything else happened almost at the same time. The door sensor picked up Lorca, who had taken that one crucial step just within its reach and opened the door for him. Security teams appeared on both ends of the corridor with their phasers at the ready and the howl of the red alert siren filled what space remained.

In a handful of moments, Grife would put the pieces together and flick the switch on Lorca's agoniser, too, rendering him completely and thoroughly immobile for as long as she pleased. _Before_ that moment, Lorca pulled the second phaser and opened fire up and down the corridor, without taking aim past the one, quick look he'd had of his enemies' positioning. The barrage of phaser fire had to be hard enough to make them retreat fast enough and one more step than they would otherwise have taken, gaining him the millisecond more time. 

Adrenaline stretched that shortest of timeframes, seemingly enough for Moreau to get to her hands and knees, whimpering but pulling herself up against the wall, her face full of agony, but its effects already fading into anger and determination as the agoniser shock subsided. Tyler was off no better and struggling to his feet the same way, enough senses left in the both of them to realise they needed to get through the mainframe door before Lorca's was taken out and the feeble protection of his covering fire was lost.

Lorca himself got as far as the door before the agoniser on his back stabbed him through the heart, up along his spine and into his head, down to snarl into the joints on his hips and all the way down the length of his legs, searing fresh pain through the injury over his chest. He stumbled, vision going white at the sudden and absolute laceration of his self-control. He hated the animal sound he made almost as much as the agony itself. 

He was dimly aware of the hiss of the door, Moreau and Tyler shouting something at each other he had not enough presence of mind to hear. Another shock carved through his senses, then a third, each time worse than the one before until the last clear thought in his mind was that he wished these terrans would finally make good on their constant threats and finally kill him.

A hand on his arm, pulling rudely on him, forcing him to his feet before he even knew he was still conscious. He breathed hard through his nose, teeth clenched too tightly for his mouth to open.

"Captain," Tyler's voice said, quiet and soothing, sounded almost like affection to Lorca's drowning mind.

"I've cranked up the memory core shields to filter out the agoniser signal, but they'll override the door control any minute."

Lorca pulled his head up, steadied himself and only then opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Moreau's face, smooth and flawless again, expression as playful as when she'd contemplated how to seduce him. There was perhaps just a hint of concern, not in her face, but in the way she kept her hold on him firmly. He didn't have it in him to just shrug her off, though he knew he should, pretending he wasn't still shaking at his core from the shock.

As a compromise, he simply ignored her and took in the room. It was a large crescent, centred on the tall pillar of the mainframe and the walls behind it housing the memory cores. Two dead crew-members lay on the floor, Lorca couldn't remember them, but they had been taken care of, so they didn't matter.

He swallowed dryly and forced himself into motion, tiny pinpricks of pain sizzling inside his muscles, but Moreau let him go when she thought he wasn't going to fall over. Behind him, he knew, she was exchanging a meaningful look with Tyler. But it, too, didn't matter. She was with him, or she was not, neither was in his hands and he hadn't come so far just to impress a cocky cadet.

He reached the control terminal, put the phasers down on top of the console and planted both hands on either side of its centre, bracing himself instead of just taking the chair right-away.

"Computer," he said. His voice burned raw in his throat, fresh from screaming. "Identify me by voice print."

_"Result inconclusive,"_ the computer announced instantly.

Wryly, Lorca asked, "What are my options?"

_"Result No. 1: Captain Gabriel Lorca, USS Discovery, died 2257. Result No. 2: Fleet Captain Gabriel Lorca, ISS Buran, dishonourable discharge, enemy of the empire."_

"Discovery?" Lorca asked, more to himself, unable to identify the ship. The date of his death didn't match, either. Did it mean he'd gone back only to die? Something his counterpart had done? Sounded like neither of them had made a particularly long run of it, though.

Deciding he'd been holding out for long enough, he sidled into the nearest chair but didn't allow all the tension to bleed from his body. He pulled out the keyboard and put up a direct input command line on the 2d screen set into the console right in front of him.

The duotronic's operating system had either barely been altered from its Federation original, or the Terran Empire had developed the same system on its own. Either way, it made the application of his rusty computer engineering knowledge much easier than he had dared hope. The underlying code he was looking for had suffered through repeated attempts to alter or delete it or simply deteriorated by the passage of time, he wasn't sure he could get it to execute the command he needed it to.

Moreau slid into the chair next to him, prompting him to send a look over his shoulder. Tyler was still stationed by the door, the control panel next to it exposed as he pulled the wires free with his dagger. It would prevent the computer to unlock the door, but it would make it easier just to mechanically force it. The mainframe's protective shielding might slow them down, though. It had to last just long _enough._

Lorca isolated the two conflicting results of his voice print, severing the newer entries in the database about his counterpart and his exploits in the empire. Whatever access privileges this Lorca had once had, they had been completely erased when Lorca had been torn from his terran pedestal.

There was another issue with the timestamps. Because the database was from the future, Lorca was considered dead and his captain's override revoked. He needed to convince the computer to ignore the death date on the simple logic that its own system time dictated it couldn't have happened yet.

When he was done, he tried again, "Computer, identify me by voice print."

Unexpectedly, the computer voice changed from its terran iteration to the much more familiar one. He hadn't calculated on the pang of homesickness at the sound of her and the realisation that this ship had travelled the same distance as him, possibly even further and they were the only remnants to each other. He was touching home, it was probably the closest he would ever come.

_"Captain Gabriel Lorca, commanding officer USS Discovery."_

"Computer, set privileges based on voice print, authorisation code follows."

_"Confirmed. Awaiting authorisation code."_

Despite himself, Lorca hesitated. If it didn't work, he had nothing left to offer.

"Five-H-three-P-four-R-D-five-P-V-R-3-R-oh-sixty-four-seven-thirteen. Confirm."

The memory cores' access lights flashed and skittered as the mainframe crawled through the data, some of it would have been corrupted over time, deleted or otherwise damaged by whatever the terrans had tried doing to it. Lorca suspected the terran computer engineers who had worked on the mainframe had found the access point of the authorisation code and might even have realised what it was meant to do. It would've seemed like a negligible vulnerability. No one in the empire knew the code and would've had a voice to match, much less would ever get into the heart of the Defiant's computer system.

It took an agonisingly long time. The computer was silent, running its calculations, determining the validity of Lorca's voice, the inflexion in how he'd pronounced every digit and letter of the code.

_"Captain's override failed."_

Maybe it was time to make that final choice, be that better man at least at the end. The thought swam idly through his mind while he just hissed a curse, anger worn into tired embers, finding a few remnant sparks.

"It was never going to work the first time," he said dismissively. "Computer, set privileges based on voice print, authorisation code: Five-H-three-P-four-R-D-five-P-V-R-3-R-oh-sixty-four-seven-thirteen. Confirm."

Again, the memory banks lit up in a wild pattern, retrieving the information, discarding all the compromised parts and the hack-job Lorca had made of its memory banks when he pulled the other captain with his name from it.

It took longer this time and the quiet in the room became suffocating.

The computer said, _"Captain's override accepted."_

Lorca smacked a fist into the console in triumph, hissing "yes" through his teeth. In an instant, all exhaustion, all his bone-deep weariness and the depleting echo of the agoniser pain drew back from him. Still there, at the back, behind the shock of adrenaline, almost better than that drugged pin Culber had offered him.

"You have it?" Tyler asked as he drew back from the door and took the seat on Lorca's other side.

Lorca changed the input fields on the screen to the more familiar, hovering holo display and set it up to mimic the more efficient battle bridge layout for himself and Tyler and Moreau before he redacted the Bridge controls and transferred it to them. This way, they could control the entire ship without compromising underlying control systems, such as the wrap core regulation and life support.

"Oh, I have it," Lorca said, unable and unwilling to keep the mad satisfaction from his voice.

He sealed the mainframe, disabled site-to-site transporters and then enacted a quarantine lockdown that sealed everyone in the rooms they were in without any option to override it themselves. They would eventually get out, using Jeffries tubes or brute force, but it would take a good long while until they had regained enough momentum to threaten Lorca's command.

"It's my ship now. And we're gonna do this my way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Alternative Summary:** Wherein I'm coming to the conclusion I may have a captain fetish (and Lorca still doesn't put a shirt on.) 
> 
> **Author's Note:** Jeffries tubes: best plot device ever! They are neither cool nor creative, but incredibly useful. 
> 
> **Yes,** I do have a full bridge crew and senior officer roster for the Buran. Most of which was never used. 
> 
> I promoted Lorca to fleet captain, how he hasn't got some loftier rank in canon I don't know, but far be it from me to expect any coherence from canon.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 09/December/2018_


	11. When You See a Good Move…

In many ways, Leighton had been lucky. The first round of interrogation he'd been subjected to had consisted of nothing worse than clever word-tricks aimed to trip him up. He'd eventually received a punch in the jaw, which swelled and bruised upward along his cheek and the corner of his mouth, but barely registered as pain when he knew so much worse was in stock for him.

The way he was left untethered when he was brought back to his cell to find Lorca absent was much worse in many ways. Clearly Lorca had been taken away, too, but to an interrogation or to an execution? To be alone, not knowing, left him anxious and tense, making him pace the length of the cell, for whatever it was worth. There was no time change in the brig, just the constant, too-bright light filling the small room. Somehow, the light had weight, forced him to push through it as through water, pressing down on his head and into his mind through his squinting eyes.

He had no way to tell how much time had passed, though he suspected it was a handful of hours, simply because he was getting irritated at his own pacing and beginning to consider sitting down, covering his eyes as well he could and try to sleep.

The low chirp of a comm channel being opened made him stop, perception slowed to a sudden, clear point. He stopped pacing in the hope his restless energy would have something to direct itself at.

_"Lieutenant Leighton,"_ unmistakable, it was Lorca's voice, coming full and spellbinding over the comm channel. _"The Defiant has a new captain. I'm opening the cells and clearing you a way to the nearest armoury. Get yourselves set up and stand by for further orders."_

Even as he spoke, the energy field collapsed and Leighton stepped out of the brightness of the cell and into the dimly lit corridor, glad for the soothing quality of the light. Other soldiers emerged from the other cells, dressed as he was in prison garb, some with the clear signs of recent, rough questioning or time in the booth, though all were on their feet.

_"Everyone,"_ Lorca said, switching the channel to make himself heard throughout the brig. _"Leighton is in charge until you hear something else from me. And only from me. We have a ship to take over, move out."_

The soldiers saluted towards Leighton and fell in line with him without any sign of resistance or argument, taking the path before them.

It might as well be magic. The energy fields on the now empty cells flickered back on and before they had even reached the doors, transporter beams began depositing guards into the cells. They looked puzzled for a moment, confused over where they suddenly found themselves at. The quicker-minded ones started shouting curses and threats at Leighton and his soldiers, but the really smart ones drew back and took in the scene, looking for a crack in the direness of their situation.

All the doors along the corridor outside the brig were closed, only certain bulkheads opened as they approached only to close again behind them. Through the wall and behind some of these doors, they could hear shouting and banging, even phaser fire as the crew of the Defiant realised they were trapped and tried to fight their way out. They encountered no person, though sometimes they heard the sound of a transporter beam as guards were being moved out of their way and into the brig.

"How the fuck did he do it?" a soldier asked, somewhere from the ranks behind Leighton. A bulkhead opened in front of them.

"Who cares?" another soldier answered. "I'm getting a chance to gut some of these fuckers, so I'm taking it."

A third soldier chuckled. "Feels like the good old days, doesn't it? Before we got stuck on that stupid rock out at the ass-end of the galaxy."

"Yeah," the second agreed.

"You know what they say about shit that's too good to be true?" the first one asked, far from convinced. "It's a trap."

"Don't go spoiling the fun," the second said.

"Well, I'll say 'I told you so' later then," the first one said.

" _Please_ do."

"I mean, if you can still talk, it can't have turned out that bad…"

The banter continued in this vein as they trekked through the eerily empty portion of the ship, while an unseen hand opened doors for them and displaced any guards who might give them trouble.

Eventually, they were led to a double door, which slid open for them and revealed the sight of a small, but more than adequate armoury. Phasers and carbines, rifles, knives and longer daggers, a full rack of stun and agony batons. At the back of the room, an open doorway showed rows of lockers, their transparent fronts showing they were full of various pieces of combat armour. There was more than enough to outfit all of them.

"Get ready," Leighton ordered, though the soldiers were already spilling into the room and doing just that, as glad as he was to finally put on a protective layer and have a weapon in their hands again.

* * *

Lorca knew how he looked to his two junior officers. Keeping control of a hundred different threads at the tips of his finger-tips. Unhurried, but fast and precise. He didn't let them see how much it took, made it look easy for them, so they could focus on the tasks he set them with sharp orders. In truth, it was less than ideal to command a starship of the size and complexity of the Defiant with two inexperienced officers and a holo-display thrown over the input terminals of the computer mainframe. He hadn't touched any of the self-regulating systems, but he couldn't tell how much damage his rough intrusion into the software had done. A warp drive was always a delicate piece of machinery to keep balanced and he had neither the time nor the expertise to do it manually should he have accidentally shut it off. 

"Cadet Moreau," Lorca said. "I'll put you in the transporter room, it's easier to clear the ship from there. Focus on security personnel and everyone not in their quarters. Then gradually everyone else until the brig is full."

"And then?"

"Stand by for orders."

"I could beam them into space…" she offered. "Cleans them out permanently."

He didn't even look at her, careful to let his inflexion not change. He said, "You've got your orders, cadet."

She paused and he was too preoccupied with the intricate workings of a Constitution-class spaceship in his hands to determine whether she was merely confused or whether she wanted a fight. There was movement from his other side, Tyler shifting in his seat, presumably to interfere. Before he could, however, Moreau left her share of the console and Lorca instantly rerouted the controls to Tyler and himself, though the display was getting cluttered and difficult to control.

"Aye, sir," Moreau confirmed, belatedly, but without any obvious misgiving. He nodded and initiated the site-to-site transport which put her in the transporter room. It took her a moment to confirm her presence from the other side and Lorca released the transporter controls to her, though it made so little impact on the displays, he barely noticed.

Through it all, Lorca finally got the confirmation that a channel had been established with the colonial offices down on Tarsus and the voice of its newly appointed governor came through with the sharpness of a paring blade.

The first thing Kodos said was, _"Commander Landry is on the way."_

It sounded like the first good news in a long while, when everything else had been narrowly averted disaster, split-second adaptions to situations that changed the ground under him at any given moment like an earthquake.

When a moment later, her laconic voice came on, Lorca almost forgot he wasn't talking to _his_ Landry and this one wasn't to be trusted. She was also all he had, so he greeted her with as much warm camaraderie as he could muster and had time to fake.

"Glad you're still in one piece," he said. "I'm taking over the Defiant, but doing it as a one-man show is getting tiring. Can you send up some people? I need anyone with spaceflight experience to keep this thing afloat."

_"You'll get the remainders of the Buran's crew,"_ Landry said.

Inside, he felt like breaking. If only _that_ were true and he'd be out here fighting alongside his real crew _._

"Coordinate with cadet Moreau, she's got the transporter. We've isolated most of the crew in their quarters and moving them to the brig, but I don't want to leave critical areas unoccupied. Move in on engineering and life-support, anti-gravity generators…" He paused, smiled just a little. "You know the drill."

Landry chuckled darkly. _"So do you,"_ she said.

"Indeed," he agreed with much less bitterness than he expected. "But I won't be as gentle. Get going, before you lose me another ship."

There was another laugh, brief and possibly even darker than before.

"Captain?" Tyler asked.

Lorca thought for a moment, mapping out his next steps in his mind, tracing the different variables, quantifying the unknowns in his plan, even while several warning lights began to flash on the simulated console. With proper preparation, any starship could function fully autonomously for any length of time, but there had not been any proper preparation and the Defiant had already started out damaged from the earlier rounds of fighting. None of the warnings implied a truly dangerous situation, yet, but it would just keep escalating until taken care off permamently. 

"We'll take the bridge," he said.

Mere five minutes ago, it might have been a lot easier, but in the time he had wasted by moving Moreau and Landry into place, the bridge had removed itself from the site-to-site coordination list, which the transporters used to ensure safe transport within the ship. Even as he watched, other areas of the ship vanished from the list. The medical quarantine remained intact, though, so while he couldn't beam anyone in or out of the blacked-out areas, the people there were still stuck.

Moreau reported she had the first few crew-members, formerly of the Buran, beamed up and was getting them close to where they needed, then bolstering their numbers with as many armed soldiers as she could transport.

Lorca amended what she was doing by telling her to get Tyler a strike team outside the turbo-lift ASAP.

When Tyler released his share of the controls, Lorca allowed the display to rearrange itself, the automatic streamlining not only allowing him to keep everything in sight, but also giving him half a second of a breather while it did.

He looked at Tyler when the commander said, "There'll be resistance on the bridge."

"I expect so."

"I don't think a firefight on the bridge would be a good thing."

Lorca tilted his head at Tyler, "Are you asking for a distraction?"

"It could be useful, sir."

Another warning lit up, dragged Lorca's attention away from Tyler and back to what he needed to do. His control of the situation was running through his fingers like water, seemingly faster no matter what he did to stop it.

"It's about time Lieutenant Grife and I had a little chat anyway," Lorca said.

Tyler had the good sense not to ask for details, or perhaps he could already tell the dimensions of it, or at least he thought he did. Grife had been trying to make her fortune by bartering Lorca around like a piece of meat. It had done nothing but play into his hands, of course, and her just rewards were already on the way.

Tyler left and although they had been quiet before as they concentrated on their tasks, they fell into a different kind of silence once Lorca was alone, just him and a spaceship slowly sliding out of his hands.

He returned some of the controls to their original stations to ease the load and hoping he wasn't giving the Defiant's crew too many options to wriggle back in. A captain's override was never meant to take over a ship in this way, it was a last safety net, designed for a failure of the ship's semi-AI system, not to counter and reverse a hostile takeover. The computer also had a tendency to return to its default settings, especially when the failures of subsystems was imminent.

_"Landry to Lorca."_

"I'm here."

_"We've taken engineering and sickbay, hand-off the controls."_

His own chief engineer on the Buran had had the good sense to isolate herself the moment she realised they were under attack. Even with a far-reaching override in place, a quick-thinking engineer would know which wires to cut. Chief Bell had done her job that night flawlessly. It was far too late to do anything but hope she knew she had been successful. He was the one who had failed that night.

The Defiant's engineer in charge was nowhere near her level, it seemed, though Lorca supposed a terran's real skills lay in other areas.

"Done, I'm giving you most of the bridge controls, too, keep us afloat," he told Landry and dismissed large parts of the display along with the data they represented. Engineering could be used as a battle-bridge on ships this size, especially with a full crew complement ready to take the load.

"Move on to the next target," he added.

Landry snorted derisively, _"Of course."_

He closed the channel to Landry just when Tyler signalled he had rendezvoused with his strike team at the turbo-lift and was ready to go to the bridge.

Lorca told him to stand by for a moment and got himself a quick overview of the Defiant's status. With control transferred to engineering, he had gained a little time. He pulled up a schematic of the Defiant and let the computer mark all areas he was directly in charge off and those his people controlled.

His people? Now that was an interesting question for later.

He took his fingers from the controls and stood up. The sharp stab of pain along his chest was becoming so familiar, he barely noticed it anymore and it mattered only to show that if his enemies wanted him to stop, they had to do a better job at killing him.

He leaned back over the console and opened a channel to the bridge, overriding the system's requirement for confirmation on the other side.

A holographic display of the bridge flickered into existence around him, the ghostly shapes didn't allow for too much detail, he'd need a holodeck for that. It was enough to tell the bridge crew hadn't been passive. All around the circular room, the consoles had been opened and crew-members were busy rewiring what they could get their hands on. Groups of them standing around, facing displays — holographic and flat — and arguing attack vectors.

Ina Grife lounged in the captain's chair, brooding with her gaze digging holes into space in front of her.

His moment passed, as the crew became aware of him, where the display had put him in the open space behind the helm, facing the captain's chair. The crew ceased their work at the consoles to gape at him, sending questioning glances at Grife.

She propelled herself out of the chair and towards Lorca as if mere anger would be enough to enable her to strike him. She came to stand right in front of him, glaring and teeth bared, but he had no interest in letting her speak.

"Lieutenant Grife, you never had a working grasp of the bigger picture," Lorca said, arrogantly looking down the length of his nose, measuring her critically and finding her wanting. In truth, she didn't resemble the Ina Grife he remembered as much as he had feared. Perhaps the shock value of it had had a chance to wear off after consistent exposure to familiar-yet-not-quite faces. He could handle Landry and Balayna, he had been able to deal with _Kodos,_ Ina Grife was just a minor discomfort in comparison.

" _Commander_ Grife!" she corrected furiously.

"Not to my knowledge," he said.

"You don't remember me!" she snapped. "You never paid any attention to me."

Lorca gave her a toothy smile. "Oh no, not at all. You think I wouldn't know the inadequacies of an officer on my bridge?"

He could tell she wanted to dismiss the blow, but it connected anyway. Tyler had only told him Grife had served under the other Lorca at some point and left on her own when her ambitions weren't going anywhere. From there, everything was just a series of educated guesses, because he really _did_ know the inadequacies of the people under his command. His Ina Grife he had supported as she figured out how to overcome her flaws, but this one deserved no such leniency.

"Here's for next time," he said as smugly as he could. "Observing the Geneva Conventions in regards to the treatment of POWs would've kept you safe."

"The what?"

The sheer, puzzled bewilderment caused by the reference had been entirely calculated. It kept her off-balance and made time tick away while she tried to adjust.

"Nevermind," Lorca said in a tone that implied she was merely too stupid to grasp his meaning. "But you shouldn't've let me out if you can't handle me."

The tidbit about Grife being somehow involved with Lorca sent a notable reaction through the bridge crew and Grife herself changed her stance, almost subconsciously, preparing herself for an attack.

Behind them, the doors to the turbo-lift hissed open. Tyler was the first, then the other soldiers piled into the room after him, spreading out immediately to disarm anyone they came across. The bridge crew's reaction was fast, though. Already wound too tightly, they instinctively fought back, but they had no time to prepare a workable defence.

Lorca watched them, pretending to see more than he actually did of the scene, surveying the take-over of the bridge.

Grife seethed, her hand resting on her phaser but she didn't draw it, staring at Lorca with utter, but impotent, hatred. Tyler came at her from behind, knocked her hand away and stepped into her knee to make her buckle and go down. She stabbed her elbow back at him, but the struggle was brief. Tyler divested her of her weapons. As a last insult, once stopped struggling, he weighed his hand down on her neck to keep her in a kneeling position in front of Lorca.

The rest of the bridge crew was similarly subdued, all lined up where they had been taken next to their disembowelled consoles, kneeling with a phaser at their heads and someone's triumphant hand at their necks.

Lorca looked them over and waited for some emotion to be stirred by the spectacle. When nothing came, only a slight sense of nausea which he could easily attribute to something as irrelevant as his injury and ongoing exhaustion, he raised his brows and sought out Tyler's gaze.

"Well done, commander," Lorca said. "Put them in the brig and clean up this mess. I'm on my way."

"Aye, sir."

Lorca looked around the room one last time, briefly making eye-contact with his soldiers and giving them an affirmative nod, letting them know he'd noticed their service. He stepped forward, reached for the mainframe console and closed the channel.

He allowed himself a moment when he was alone again, braced his hands on the console and just focussed on breathing, enjoying the quiet and the twilight. At some point he couldn't place, he had started to think of the ever-present, terran gloom as soothing. It hid so many things from sight. He wondered if these people had been shaped in some subtle way by this, if their sensitivity to bright lights had caused their civilisation to evolve to include so much darkness or if their biology had simply adapted to their natural tendency for shadows and those deeds best only done out of the light.

He looked up at the schematic of the Defiant, watched as the areas he controlled lit up and the others shrunk. He slipped his fingers over the console and found Captain Maddox had been confined to his quarters at the start of it and though there had been all sorts of attempts to get out, he hadn't yet managed to do so. Lorca thought of his own quarters, wondered how many holes he could've found to squeeze out of it, though medical quarantines were notoriously difficult to circumvent. The safety of the ship depended on it, including taking the captain out of the equation.

He pushed himself away from the console, dismissed the remaining displays and the schematic, making the dark nearly complete in the short time it took for his eyes to re-adjust. He wasn't done with this ship yet, not done with Maddox, either, or the whole of Tarsus. He didn't allow himself to bask in his victory, because it wasn't one quite yet when too much was still moving barely under his control.

He left the mainframe, found two guards positioned outside who saluted him smartly. He didn't know who had put them there, but he guessed it was Tyler rather than Landry. He nodded to them and made his way along the corridor towards the turbo-lift.

The invasion was in the messy stage between active fighting and cleanup, pockets of belligerent resistance remaining, though the Defiant's crew had been split up into bite-sized little pieces to be taken out one by one.

No one got in his way. His soldiers paused in subduing — or roughing up — those of the Defiant's crew in their clutches to salute him as he passed. He still needed to translate the gesture in his mind to be a show of respect, nothing more than that. Moreover, he was fairly sure for some time now, the gesture had been meant for him, rather than the man he resembled. He thought of what Culber had said, these people had _chosen_ to follow one Gabriel Lorca, once. He could easily imagine the promises he had made them, some of them he must even have delivered on. How many of them could be made to make a different choice? He needed a crew of his own if he meant to keep going.

"Lorca."

He didn't slow down at the sound of his name but tilted his head towards her to indicate he'd heard her. She shifted out of her spot next to the turbo-lift to plant herself right in his way.

He gave her a smile and said, "Ellen."

Her posture was resolute, but not so challenging he would have to respond in kind while there were soldiers around to observe him. Her brows twitched at his intimate address. If she had expected him to play her captain and commander game now that they were on the home stretch, she was mistaken. He had known there was a confrontation with her coming. He'd have preferred to make it to the bridge beforehand, just for the symbolism, but it was all the same in the end.

"We've got to talk," she said, unusually indirect, perhaps sensing she didn't have quite the upper hand with him as she had had when she deposited him on Tarsus mere days before.

"How about we take this somewhere more private?" he asked with a drawl.

They were right next to the living quarters, most of which had already been cleared out. He didn't wait for her acquiescence but stepped into the corridor branching off to the right. The doors on either side stood open, some to reveal the signs of struggle, tossed and dropped furniture, litter on the floor. He walked into one of them, then turned around to watch Landry follow him. She stopped by the door where she flicked the button and the door slid closed behind her, locking them in with each other.

* * *

At this point in time, Landry had resigned herself to never feeling anything but exhausted ever again. In fact, she was starting to get used to it. There was a strange sense of clarity waiting for her on the other side of her tiredness, it seemed, borne from having no energy to spare for irrelevant issues. 

But Lorca was anything but irrelevant. She had no desire to ease his obvious tension, taking her time to regard him after the locking mechanism of the door had engaged. She suspected he'd agree to her assessment over the benefits of utter exhaustion. He'd been on his feet for as long as she herself, fighting for his life during all that time. It looked like it suited him, too, the gaunt cheeks and pallid skin leaving a dangerous fever glow in his eyes. There was something at rest about him now, none of that disconnected, vulnerable confusion she had sensed from him in the beginning, his brittle arrogance replaced by solid confidence. He looked like someone who had fully adapted to a new and hostile environment, slowly coming to the conclusion he might be enjoying it more than he should.

He looked back at her with a piercing gaze which, no doubt, had already mapped all her obvious and most of her less-than-obvious weaknesses. He was ready for a fight and she was in two minds over whether she should let him have it. More than one argument she had had with Captain Lorca they'd resolved on the mat, and eventually the bedroom, but no matter how brutal it had become, it had always been just play, mostly pleasure, even if it was the rough kind, and no lasting damage. But for all she knew, this one would just straight-up beat her until she stopped moving. In light of his history, his willingness to use violence had surprised her and he'd not just used it, either, he'd been pushing it to a point where many terran commanders wouldn't have the guts to go. She would respect anyone who could take nothing — which was all she'd given him — and turn it into a series of victories. If nothing else, he had earned the right to be regarded without disdain for his origins in an entirely emasculated universe. Looking at him now, it seemed like it had been a bad fit from the start.

"Talk," he said, voice rough. "I'm expected on the bridge."

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "These are still not your people."

"It's my ship."

"But you don't have a crew."

Something flickered across his expression, quickly hidden, but he knew the truth of her words. He said nothing at first, then the corner of his mouth flickered and he raised one eyebrow.

"Are you willing to test that?" he asked.

Stupid of her to assume he wouldn't have picked up on how power dynamics worked around here. Just from how he'd played the council in New Anchorage was proof he knew how it worked. It wasn't to say that Captain Lorca's followers would throw their allegiance at just anyone's feet, but this one? Landry couldn't blame them if some of them were confused over whether it even constituted a betrayal in the first place. In a way, she supposed, both this Lorca and herself were running the operation on the strength of the same, _absent_ , man. His absence was the problem, though. She had no idea how long it would take for the captain to make his way back and because of that, she couldn't bring herself to call the other one's challenge a bluff.

"No," she said, quite truthfully. "I'm not tearing us apart. I got a better idea."

He feigned surprise, though his stance relaxed just slightly, now that he thought he might be able to avoid a direct confrontation. Or at least postpone it to a date in the far future.

"Let us work together," she said. "The captain has resources and followers all across the galaxy, you'll need my help to survive."

"And you're offering them?" he asked and painted an unpleasant smirk on his face. "Your captain would never approve. He wanted me alive just to torture me, remember?"

"He'd approve of success," Landry said. "And, yeah, our survival as a movement. When he's back, he'll decide what to do with you. Until then, he's put me in charge and I make the call I think is right."

It sounded hollow to her own ears. She couldn't imagine her captain willingly — or even unwillingly —joining forces with the murderer of Michael Burnham. No doubt the man in front of her knew it, too, and she hoped he would understand the limits of what she had to offer.

He let her offer hang in the air as he took a look around the room. It wasn't a luxury quarter, just enough space for two bunk-beds, a hygiene cubicle set into the wall and a small table and chairs off to the side. An unmarked bottle had tipped over on the table, sitting in a puddle of alcohol. He regarded it, then stepped forward to pick up the bottle and took a whiff.

"Moonshine," Landry said. "Every ship with a chem lab produces it."

He chuckled, shook the bottle to test what remained of its contents before he pulled out the nearest chair and sat down.

He said, "That's the first good thing our universes have in common."

He swiped his thumb over the top of the bottle and said, "Have a drink? With me?"

The add-on was pointed, drawing a clear line between him and the _other_ him, in case Landry had forgotten who she was dealing with. So far, he'd played it mostly the other way around, making her follow his orders because they were the same her captain would've given her. This time, he wanted her to know exactly who he was. And who he was not.

Yet, he seemed to misinterpret her hesitation and he tilted his head to the side, said, "Lorca to the bridge."

_"Commander Tyler here. We are only waiting for you. Are you in trouble?"_

"Not at all," Lorca said. "But something important came up. Call me in an emergency, otherwise I'll be up shortly."

_"Aye, sir."_

Tyler didn't sound entirely convinced, but Landry's impression of Tyler was that he was this Lorca's man without reservations. Culber had said something to that effect, too. It was worth keeping an eye on, in case this went south worse than expected. Lorca was good at keeping all the attention on him, giving one loyal follower all the time in the world to wreak what havoc he could.

"Come on, Ellen," he said.

She resented the sound of her name on his lips. It made it far too clear that he and her counterpart in his universe had known each other just as intimately as she and her captain. It forced her to wonder what _she_ was like, what Ellen Landry was like in that strange universe and the mere thought was sickening. Though, perhaps not everything was its perfect opposite on that other side. Lorca, quite obviously, wasn't.

She gave a slight nod, picked the second chair and sat down, facing him.

He smiled and took a swig from the bottle, pulled a face as he swallowed, then offered the bottle to her. She drank, and nearly coughed.

"Oh shit, that's bad," she said. "You should check out Lieutenant Bell's stuff."

Lorca chuckled in agreement. "Yeah, I should."

She missed the bright flare in his eyes. Even though the alcohol tasted like klingon bathwater, it trailed a pleasant heat down her throat and into her belly. Across from her, Lorca resettled himself in his seat and tucked on the strap of the holster, easing it away from the fresh scar over his chest.

"Let's hash this out," Lorca said, the alcohol almost the only warmth left between them. "I need a crew for the ship. You give me that, a skeleton crew will do and I'll prefer volunteers."

"What's in it for the rest of us?"

"I'll take you where you wanna go. I'm sure there are places in the galaxy your empire has never completely controlled. I'll recruit a new crew and I'll let you all go."

She handed him the bottle back and he took it but didn't drink immediately. He made a small gesture, but it encompassed the width of the galaxy around them. "And you do what you want to do."

"Do you know what sort of asset a ship like the Defiant is for our cause?"

He took a sip from the bottle and set it down between them. "The Defiant is mine. You want it, you come take it."

There was a note of finality in his voice and because she'd expected it, she knew not to push him on it.

"There's a war coming," she said. "We could use you as an ally."

"You don't want me," he snorted. "Every deal you make with me, it's gonna be void when your Captain Lorca returns. We both know it, so let's just focus on the here and now."

She found herself chewing on her lower lip, stopped herself and reached for the bottle instead. It was almost empty by now, barely more than a sip remaining.

"You'll have to evacuate the planet," she said. "Half the damn asteroid belt is going to hit it in a few days. All our people need to be off it by then. You take us to Risa. It's a cesspool for mercenaries and pirates, we'll all get what we want there."

He arched his brows. "That's Risa for you."

"Anything we run across on the way, we decide together, you and I. But I won't interfere in ship operations."

She watched him, looking for anything familiar in his face and the problem wasn't that she didn't find it, the problem was that there was too much of it. She didn't like it, he looked like she'd somehow lost some contest she thought she'd been breaking even in.

"I can make that work," he said and she noted the many qualifiers in his choice of words and especially in the unspoken lines between, the angle of his jaw and the glint in his eyes. He relished the way the power had shifted between them and he wasn't going to let her forget it.

He waited for another long moment, picked up the bottle and found that it was empty, put it back down. He regained his feet and flexed his shoulders, groaned a little at the stiffness in tired muscles, but the minor show of weakness did nothing for her confidence.

Looking down at her, he smiled again and this time with slightly fewer razors, leaving a different sort of heat lower than her belly. "Let's head to the bridge."

For a second, something underneath his smile made the dilapidated crew quarters with the spilt, inferior alcohol an inviting location for a quick fuck. It'd release some tension, _connect_ them and allow her to test him in some new way. The thought had crossed his mind, she could tell, lingering in his gaze, but his energy was too restless. It would take a much better lure to keep him from the bridge after having fought so hard for it.

Maybe there was some opportunity on the way to Risa, just out of curiosity. She returned the smile, somewhat less warmly, but moved to join him. The invitation was rather hard to resist, after all.

Their deal, precarious as it was, still danced through Landry's thoughts as they left the crew quarters and went back to the turbo-lift. But Lorca seemed to have no such second thoughts. The moment their relationship had — at least for the moment — been resolved into something like allies, he was back to business, treating her like a second-in-command and valued advisor. He never let her have any doubts about who was going to have the final say. It grated, but she knew how to pick her battles and would only oppose him if his orders contradicted her best judgement.

"The brig's full," he said. "And it's difficult to contain people in their quarters for a longer time, too many ways to get out. We need to figure out a solution."

The turbo-lift slipped smoothly into motion, carrying them upward.

"Shuttle-bay two has been outfitted with an emergency quarantine setup," Landry said. "The Defiant was in charge of containing a plague that escaped from a research lab a few years ago. The Buran was helping out, too, we had a similar setup. Splits the shuttle bay up into one-square-metre cells."

"That should do it," Lorca said. "Set it up and begin moving our prisoners there."

The turbo-lift slid to a halt and the doors opened. Landry indulged herself by putting her attention on Lorca rather than the bridge. She'd seen the Defiant before, even been on it a few times, and while it was larger than the Buran, it had never quite impressed her.

Lorca took one step, right into the doorway, then stopped to take it in. He tilted his head just slightly towards the voice that announced, "Captain on the bridge."

Tyler turned the captain's chair and got up, making sure the chair rotated towards Lorca invitingly, but his gaze wasn't immediately on it. Instead, he trailed it over the workstation as if he could look inside them, or at least through the terran changes that had been made on _his_ Federation ship. The thought was a minor revelation to Landry. No wonder he was so adamant about having it. It wasn't just that he was a captain and wanted a ship, he wanted _this one._ It opened the interesting opportunity to get rid of him, too, because such attachment could easily be turned against him.

Not now, though. Now she watched him swing back into motion and stride towards the chair, settled a hand on the armrest and levered himself into it, giving it a little shove to centre it.

The newly-minted crew members Landry had dispatched had served on the bridge of the Buran and had no issue adapting, but they all stood to attention now, sometimes giving Landry quick, questioning looks to assure themselves things were going as they should.

Lorca angled his head so he could catch a glimpse at Landry and said, "Set-up shuttle-bay two."

Just to see what would happen, she only nodded, refusing any verbal confirmation and holding his gaze, but he dismissed her unspoken challenge completely, turning instead to Tyler who still stood next to him.

"Give me a status report," he demanded. "The Defiant has been through a lot."

He paused for a tiny moment. "More than we know. Let's treat her right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some news for you guys. 
> 
> Firstly, the story is heading for a close and I'm pretty sure it'll be done before Discovery season 2 hits, which has been my aim (and worry) for a while now. This is also a warning of sorts for those of you who find my endings too open. The premise of this story is "Prime Lorca frees himself and sets himself up in the mirrorverse." Everything that happens after, happens _after_. I know this is irritating to those who prefer more concise endings, but I can only serve one master. I hope it's not too bad as a journey otherwise. 
> 
> Secondly, I'm gradually uploading revised chapters. It's taking longer than I'd like, but it's happening. Shout-out and thanks to Dendi who keeps me honest!
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 02/February/2019_


	12. … Look for a Better One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Revision Changelog:** The character of Romeo Laing's name was changed to Romeo Zhang (too many names starting with L). He's the guy who nearly decked Lorca in chapter six. Landry's memory of Mirror Lorca (the naked in furs one) now took place over Pacifica (it was Risa, but I prefer Risa as pirate heaven…)

As the first officer on the Helios, Lorca had liked to do this: take some of his most boring work and bring it to the mess hall, sometime in the middle of the night of third shift. Few people were about at such an hour, but those who were, like him, were in a more relaxed mood, willing to sit and talk freely, even to a superior. It built a foundation of shared, but utterly mundane experience.

He had never done it after making captain. His promotion had come too soon after Tarsus VI, too soon after being cleared for duty. He was never sure what machinations had been running in the background for that promotion and who had been pulling the strings. Surely his performance during the crisis hadn't been entirely commendable, but someone, somehow, had seen the potential in that tragic series of events and his response to it. He had always hated the thought he had made captain on that single incident as if he'd benefitted from it when everyone else just had to suffer, but he couldn't prove it one way or the other. It only made it worse, of course, and he had never found the right person to pose the question to.

Thus, the question of whether seeking random late-night chats in the mess hall was appropriate behaviour for a captain had never even come up.

Maybe he should have tested it out then, Lorca thought as he wandered into the mess hall. There was little to obviously distinguish this mess hall from any or all mess halls on ships. Neat rows of tables, seating for up to eight people each, all bolted to the floor. A counter in front of the replicator terminals and chutes for recycling.

The mess wasn't as empty as it should've been just after the start of the third shift. But after they had picked up all of _Lorca's_ followers from the surface, the ship was packed well over normal capacity. The replicators were already strained by their number, leading the system to switch to rationing mode. He'd allocated the imprisoned former crew of the Defiant the same amount of food, leading to even more severe rationing.

Kodos was currently busy raiding the stores on Tarsus and transferring fresh food into the cargo holds, so once they were full, the journey to Risa should be less stressful. Attempts to bulk transport the food stocks were currently frying the power grid, but repairs were picking up again, now that the Buran's crew was starting to get a handle on the different ship.

The few third shift stragglers still seated around the hall quickly emptied their coffee or finished their plate when they spotted him, then hurried out of the room and, hopefully, to their stations. The other people, presumably off-duty kept an alert expression on him, observing every move he made. Only when he made no attempt to engage with — or chastise — them, did they settle down. They each made sure not to flunk on saluting him, though the gestures were subdued and habitual now. If not for the hour and the place, Lorca would have thought the attitude unusually relaxed. From what he had learned of terrans they were fixated on rank and advancement and the shows of submission that went with it.

Lorca made his way to the replicator.

"Irish coffee."

He considered the possibility that the other Lorca would find fake obeisance just as annoying as he himself did. _Lorca_ would have wanted true adoration and real worship, not just empty gestures. And he himself much preferred honest respect, which might just about amount to the same thing.

_"Alcoholic beverages cannot be served."_

Lorca smiled a little, "Test passed. Hot ca phe trung, make it large."

The computer didn't object to his order, passing the test yet again, much to his surprise. Balayna had introduced him to the concoction and he had never got the replicator on the Buran to spit it out right. The result, for one, certainly looked the part.

He picked up his drink and carried it back to an empty table, picking one a safe distance away from the other crew-members. He only glanced them over, too. He hadn't had time to learn all their faces and names, and the short summaries Landry had supplied were barely enough to get to know them.

He tried the egg coffee, and let the taste smooth over the transition into concentrating on the PADD in his hand and his attempt to draw up a duty roster with only people he trusted. Not that trust was a useful measure, calculated risk hit the nail on the head much better. So perhaps all it would take was rephrasing the solution.

In the five days he had been in control of the Defiant, he had opened applications for the various ship positions that needed to be filled. The applications had started coming in, but in much more of a trickle than he had hoped. Tyler's had been the first, unsurprisingly, because he had no affiliation with the other Lorca and certainly couldn't go back to the empire. Most of the other applications had come from former lower-ranked Buran crew-members and bore the stain of opportunism. At least ambition was a trait he could work with, they would stick with him as long as he delivered on their dreams of grandeur, which was easy enough to do on the short term.

In the past few days, he'd spent as much time around his prospective crew as he could without raising too much suspicion. Seeking out those faces he remembered too well, playing on his incomplete knowledge of who they were to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear.

He set the PADD down and took another sip, wondering if long-term planning was even worth the effort.

He let his gaze wander around the room and spotted Cadet Moreau at the replicators. Glancing down, he flipped through the duty roster and found that she had been working second shift in security. Tyler had supplied a very meaningful question mark in terms of her loyalty.

Moreau turned away from the replicator and stopped to pick a seat. He made eye contact with her, made a slight gesture with his head and saw a small smile cross her face. She had wiped the smile away by the time she had made her way to his table.

"May I, captain?" she asked politely.

He gave her another wordless gesture and she sat down, facing him.

If he expected her to gracelessly pounce on the opening he had just given her, he was selling her talents short. Still with an air of polite deference, but otherwise secure in his permission, she dug into her food first. A plate of stir-fry with calamari, the smell of fish and spices replacing the more delicate scent of his coffee.

"Cadet," he started, pitching his tone into a friendly timbre. "I was wondering, why you haven't applied for a ship position?"

She swallowed before she said, "If we're both off-duty, you could call me Marlena, sir."

"That seems unfair," he said. "Since you're still going to call me captain at all times."

"I wouldn't mind," she assured him.

He fixed her with a hard look, vaguely disapproving, but leaving her hanging as to interpret it correctly. She hadn't quite settled on whether she wanted to appeal to his paternal instincts or his libido, which was probably the reason she was so inoffensively polite towards him. If he'd responded better to her brief advance in Tyler's quarters, her behaviour would be much different now.

"I would," he said. "If you're leaving me hanging. Why bother?"

He added a pointed raise of his eyebrow, reminding her of the question he'd posed.

"I have no ship experience," she said eventually, poking at her food with her fork before she decided on another mouthful.

"Experience can be gained."

She glanced up at him, all doe-eyed, youthful prettiness and said, "I thought you wouldn't want me. I was rude and stupid, in the beginning, when I thought…" She trailed off and poked her food again.

"When you thought I was taking over from your…" he sucked in his breath to stop himself from passing unkind judgement on a man outwardly so similar to himself.

"… from your captain," he finished, more than enough insult in the omission to satisfy his own sentiment.

She'd looked up at his hesitation and studied his face. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth in thought. "I probably should apologise for that."

"Why?" he asked. "Are you sorry?"

She pulled white teeth from red lips, still searching his face for clues which response he expected of her, in the end, she came up with nothing.

"Don't apologise for loyalty," he said, a little sharper so she knew he meant it. "But don't fall for that false dichotomy. It's not him or me."

She relaxed ever so slightly, reassured by something she saw or heard. She gave a silent nod and took another fork-full of her food, this time with considerably more enjoyment than the two previous bites.

"Maybe if you told me the whole story?" she prompted, hiding her eagerness in a forkful of food.

He chuckled to himself. So, she was asking for his life story, was she? No doubt she was dying to fit all the tidbits she'd heard together and came up only with a disjointed, nonsensical picture. He couldn't even fault her for wanting to know, the situation was unique and utterly bewildering for everyone involved.

He shook his head, took the glass and felt as the warm water clung to his fingers and cooled.

"That's more time than we have," he said.

She pouted a little, a small frown drawing a thin line between her brows. She knew perfectly well he didn't mean they didn't have time. He meant he wasn't going to trust her with all of it.

"But then you can't blame me for sticking with what I know," she said.

"You know him then?"

Knowing full well she had no good answer to it, he put the glass to his lips and watched as she mulled the question over. He watched her over the rim of the glass and offered her the solution, "You know a lot more about me in comparison." He tipped the glass towards her a little and added, "Think about it, Marlena."

Drinking, he caught sight of someone else, just turned away from the replicators and looking unsure of his next move.

"Call Lieutenant Leighton over," Lorca said.

If he got Moreau, he'd get Leighton. The young man would follow her lead if it was being offered. If Lorca could separate them permanently, he had the suspicion Leighton would much rather remain with Lorca, but freeing him from her influence would take a while. Lorca much preferred getting two for one while he was pressed for time and support.

Moreau turned around and gave him a wave, prompting a frown, but he walked over with his tray, carefully eying Lorca as he set it down on the table next to Moreau.

"With your permission, sir?" Leighton asked.

"Already granted," Lorca said with a smile and a glance at Moreau. He waited for Leighton to settle and begin eating. He took a leisurely sip off his coffee while, glancing down at the PADD and flicked through it.

Eventually, he said, "I was just asking Marlena why she doesn't want a ship position."

Several emotions crossed Leighton's often so carefully expressionless face. He passed a quick, questioning look between Moreau and Lorca, unable to hide a spike of beginning jealousy.

"You haven't put in your application either," Lorca added, pretending the unspoken exchange had completely passed him by. "Why?"

The polite phrasing gave him every opportunity to simply decline an answer. Lorca wouldn't let it go, of course, but Leighton could've tried.

"I know where I belong," Leighton said.

Lorca chuckled. "Ah, that loyalty again."

Leighton said nothing but he looked hurt by what he perceived to be mockery. It was, just not for the reason Leighton thought.

Lorca said, "On whose side do you think I am?"

Although he was still looking at Leighton, Moreau answered, "That's easy. Your own."

Her answer amused him, "True, who wouldn't be?"

He made a show of glancing around the room, pretending to take it all in as if for the first time. In truth, there was a pang of something lodged deep in his throat. The Defiant had made the same journey as him and like him, she'd been dressed up and used as something she was never meant to be, only to make it through.

"It's a good ship," he said. "She could use a good crew. It's an opportunity."

He sighed and glanced at the PADD, the beginning resignation not all false. He looked back up, at Leighton, then Moreau, "You _know_ me."

They really didn't, he didn't quite know himself these days, but the point he'd made to Moreau still held true. They knew even less about their absent Captain Lorca.

Lorca gave them both a smile, vaguely benevolent but toned down just enough to leave them guessing.

"I won't overstay my welcome," Lorca said, gathered the PADD and his almost empty coffee. "Enjoy your break. The rationing will be lifted soon."

He left without looking to see if either of them made another empty gesture of obedience at him. He'd given them a lot to chew on, most of it in separate pieces, but Moreau at least would know how to read it. Pushing harder would've just driven her away, taking Leighton along with her.

This type of micromanagement wouldn't net him a crew and not even one full roster of trustworthy people, especially not in the time he had.

Walking, he glowered down on the PADD as if it would give up its solution if he threatened it badly enough.

* * *

Morning shift was still hours away when Ferasini approached the door to the captain's quarters. She'd stalled for time after the invitation had come through, polite as it had been. She could have refused, perhaps he even _wanted_ her to, but she hadn't found the words to. So instead of outright denying him, she'd settled for being late, not without deriding her own childish gesture at every turn. 

Now she stood against the opposite wall and waited, wondered if the sensors in the hallway had already announced her or if they had been damaged and not yet repaired. The hallway was empty, not a guard in sight and there was at least no sign of damage that would require a repair team's attention.

She should have asked why he would invite her, she thought, now when it was much too late to press him for an explanation or an admission of anything. She didn't understand when he'd become intimidating to her. Last she remembered he had been a prisoner, barely out of his cell with nothing at all but bravado and a name and face he didn't deserve. Even with all the change in his fortune, he was still that same nobody he'd been. He shouldn't affect her, no matter what rank he claimed ownership to — even if it wasn't an empty claim anymore, now that he had the Defiant.

She took a step forward, schooling her features and stance, the confidence came naturally but ebbed in slowly, a slither of warmth on too cold limbs. She arched her head back and swiped her hand over the door sensor to announce her arrival.

A petty man would've left her waiting even longer, giving back her late arrival and letting her nerves do the rest, but the door opened almost immediately. The room beyond was sheathed in a soft twilight and looking almost empty. A large crate occupied one side of the room, containing Maddox's personal items, leaving the room bare of any decoration, with just the furniture as if no one lived there at all.

It took a moment until she spotted Lorca against the brightness of the window. Beyond the window, Tarsus IV hung large and gently glowing in the sunrise, the only source of light in the room.

"Come look," Lorca said, his voice was a quiet lure, hard to resist when she couldn't detect any barbs in it. She stepped inside and the door slid closed. The ever-present hum of the ship was dulled inside, knocking her back into her skull uncomfortably when a sound she'd stopped being aware of was suddenly gone.

As she approached him, she realised he hadn't even turned to look at her, instead focussed completely on the view and drawing her attention there. Only then did she remember what time it was and that the first scattered asteroids would have hit the surface around this time.

"You've missed the first impact," he said.

The first pieces were small, easiest to be drawn out of their orbit by Tarsus' own gravity. In their small size, most were nothing but shooting stars in the atmosphere, unable to reach the ground. Even as she watched, the first larger pieces flared up as they burned, displacing the cloud cover on the way down.

"It looks quite beautiful like this, don't you think?" he asked.

She glanced at him, watched the darker outline of his profile against the brighter backdrop. His expression, like his voice, was calm if a little wistful. On the table next to him, she spotted a bottle of bourbon and a heavy-glass tumbler catching a few stray rays of light and filtering them through the centimetre of rich, darkly golden liquid it contained. He must have indulged in a little privilege of his own, ignoring the rationing parameters he himself had set for everyone on board. She let it go instead but noted he had not set out a second glass for her.

He was dressed in civilian clothing. Smartly, he had refrained from playing dress-up in a terran uniform, while wearing something from his universe would've been meaningless at best and at worst alienated him from everyone else.

"The destruction in the first 48 hours will be minimal," she said. "The impact sites are in uninhabited areas and they won't kick up enough dirt and debris to alter the weather pattern."

"But by the end of it, Tarsus will be uninhabitable," he said and there was a sick eagerness in his tone.

"Yes," she confirmed, still watching him rather than the view. She considered her words and thought about what she knew of him. He had an uncanny ability to see through deception, an unerring sense of realism which allowed him to spot any attempt to bent the truth. If she wanted to manipulate him, lies would never work.

"What's it with you and Tarsus?"

She made a gesture towards the planet, unsure if he registered it and added, "You claim to be this great moralist, since I've met you, you've attacked and insulted every aspect of my civilisation. You talk a big game, but here you stand, watching a whole planet die with glee. Can you explain that?"

"There are no innocent terrans."

"So that's how you do it," she concluded, a sense of satisfaction coating her voice. "We all deserve death in your mind. Surely you see the irony in that?"

He snorted, not a laugh, but not making it to a growl either. "There's irony here in spades," he said. "I don't have a shovel big enough to get through it all."

"I don't understand you."

It was close to an exasperated sigh and for some reason, this was the thing which finally made him look at her. Soft sunlight and the flare of an asteroid entering the atmosphere traced the side of his face, crawled into the fine cracks around his eyes and along the high arch of his brow.

"I think you owe me an explanation," she said, meeting his gaze levelly. "At the very least about that woman you knew and who you see when you look at me."

Predictably, her challenge wiped the amusement off his face as if it had never been.

"I know exactly who you are."

"And I need to know who she is," she insisted. "Otherwise the two of us won't be able to make peace."

"Why won't making nice do?" he asked back. His sense of irony asserting itself into a thin note of sarcasm. "You don't plan on staying, so we'll manage."

She had not put in her application for the crew he was trying to carve out of another man's followers. She had wanted to see if he would ask her and she suspected he wouldn't have invited her if she had.

The truth, she thought, she could only beat him with the truth.

"You don't have a surplus of applicants, do you?

He shook his head. "I _want_ volunteers but I'll take whoever I can get."

"You want to get rid of me," she said. The wonder in her tone wasn't all feigned when she added, "You're still scared of me."

"And you're still turned on by it," he said, shook his head and looked back at the planet.

The truth, she reminded herself and wished he liked her enough to offer her some of the bourbon. Perhaps he suspected she would just call him out on it, too, which was why he hadn't offered.

"I wish," she sneered and crossed her arms over her chest, turning fully towards him, even if he pretended to still watch the overture of the destruction of Tarsus IV. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she said, blaming him for it, even if she knew it wasn't his fault. "You're stuck in my mind and I can't think."

She bared her teeth at his immobile profile. "You have no right to have that effect on me. You are an affliction."

"What a romantic confession."

"I need to get rid of it," she said roughly. "Let the fever burn itself out. It's just neurochemistry."

She paused, so the pain and anger she felt were a little less raw on her tongue. She said, "We both don't want me to respond to you like this. And you're going to help me."

He still didn't respond and his stance hadn't changed, his attention still pensively fixed on the view, relegating her to a secondary role. Whether insult or power-play didn't really matter to her either way.

"Who is she?" she demanded, though softer. She had no way to force him and he would be able to tell her anger was just an expression of her helplessness, and it was playing into his hands.

Bracing herself, she added, "I'm asking for your help, that's all."

He turned his head to look at her and she was glad the dim light left half his expression hidden from view so she could tell herself it wasn't pity she saw there. She wouldn't have anything he wasn't willing to let her have. He might not be ready to admit he liked the power, but to her, it was at least a familiar apparition.

From on high, she supposed, it was tempting to appear generous. She caught the brightness of a smile just before he took a step back and to the table. He took the bottle and filled the glass, then took a half-step back in her direction, holding out the glass at the end of an outstretched arm.

"Here," he said.

She remembered offering _him_ a drink and the insult he had made of his rejection. She also remembered he hadn't been able to make it stick.

Once her fingers closed around the glass and he let go, his fingers slipped over her's. A spark of delight shot from the tiny contact, immediately followed by a new wave of badly suppressed anger.

"Sit down," he said and tilted his head towards where a récamier stretched away from the couch set against the wall under the window. Not waiting for her, he picked a seat against the armrest where he was still facing the window.

She gulped down a generous amount of the richly textured alcohol and stepped forward to sit down. With the window and the light behind her, he had put himself at a disadvantage, letting her see his face much more clearly than vice versa.

Lorca spoke slowly, "I met Balayna thirteen years ago, she was a geologist like you are. Researched the magnetic bedrock of the equatorial tectonic plate. I followed her to Tarsus, got a posting no one else wanted just to be here."

He paused a moment, angled his head to look out at the planet again, though only briefly. "I was going to quit Starfleet, look for something permanent, settle down with her. Maybe even here."

She considered offering him the glass back to help smooth the roughness abrading his voice. Instead, she held still and waited, lest she remind him who he was talking to. The bottle was right next to him, he could just take it if he wanted it.

"That's when the famine happened," he said. 

"She was sacrificed," she said, carefully getting to know the shapes and edges of a history similar and yet strange. How had the great famine played out in his universe? Moreover, he had been _there,_ apparently, on the ground when it went down. Even with Ribiero's decisive actions and ultimate resolution, the famine had been an ugly business.

She took a sip and waited.

"She was _murdered,"_ he corrected sharply. "We have no state-sanctioned genocide. _Criminals_ committed monstrous acts."

He turned his head away from the view to look at her face when he said, "I helped bring many of them to justice. The instigator escaped. But it's been a decade. Balayna is dead. I'm over it, you'll get over it, too."

He leaned his shoulder into the armrest and pulled a knee up on the upholstery, seemingly settling himself more comfortably. After a moment of silence, he reached for the bottle, but instead of drinking it, he held it in front of him, studied the label as if some great revelation was hidden in it.

"Kodos sent this as a gift," he said. "He thinks I don't like him. Refill?"

She'd nearly emptied the glass during his short narration and felt the heat of it still lingering in her throat. She held out the glass and in pouring, he said, "In my universe, Kodos was the one who seized control of the colony and organised the mass-murder."

He took the bottle back and set it on the table and added, "I don't like him because he's Kodos and don't like you because you're not her."

The truth, she found, was a blade cutting both ways. She had quite enough of it, too, felt the lure of his proximity and wondered why he had invited her at all.

"The first time," he said. "You took advantage."

His tone was so mild, she couldn't tell if he was accusing her of it or if he was merely stating a fact.

"I couldn't have known."

However, she _had_ known how he'd come from months of imprisonment and she had had every reason to assume mental scarring, to say nothing of the obviously vulnerable position he had been in. Whether the knowledge would've deterred her was a piece of truth she'd rather not speak aloud. Besides, he already knew and it chipped an edge into his faint amusement.

"Now you do," he said, chin pushed forward slightly in challenge. "What are we gonna do about it?"

Ignoring the distant and fading voice at the back of her head that this was a bad idea and that she swallowing his bait whole without a second thought, she leaned forward. She folded one leg under her to push herself up, leaning in over him, resting one hand on his knee to prop her up as she leaned in, slightly above him with only the space of the glass between them.

She looked into his eyes above the rim as she emptied the glass, feeling the sting and the heat lingering on her lips.

"I can think of a few things," she said and reached past him to put the glass on the table, the movement exposed her throat and she hoped he would accept the open invitation to sink his teeth into it.

Instead, his hand came up to the back of her neck, strong fingers digging into her hair and froze her in place. Only then did he kiss her, though, despite the rough hold he had on her, the kiss was excruciatingly gentle, exploratory, seemingly more interested in seeking out and savouring the lingering taste of the alcohol than to engage with her at all. His hand kept her from leaning in, his lips and tongue sapping the breath from her and the will to fight back along with it.

His other hand closed around her wrist, stopped her from digging her fingers further up into his thigh and force a reaction. Breaking the kiss, he dislodged her smoothly, hold on her neck and her hand, toppling her back so slowly, the sense of vertigo seemed delayed and drawn out, making her feel lazy enough to just let him. At least things were moving and she was, for the moment, quite content to let him go about it his way. Perhaps she owed him a little for that first time, too.

Sprawled on the récamier, arms spread out along the couch above her. Part of her was glad he made no attempt to take her to the bed. The narrow couch allowed her to plant one leg on the floor, grounding her in an illusion of control while his touch of her continued to slowly and leisurely drive her mad.

Every so often, frustration would ebb through the haze, make her push herself up, paw at his chest and arms, drag her fingers through his hair and down his back to urge him on. It earned her a harder touch, a grip pinning her wrists back to the couch, keeping her hips down and her legs from sliding up around his waist and lever herself against him.

He stripped her out of her clothes almost as an aside, without letting her get up, without giving her head a chance to clear. She had barely realised he was doing it before the suffocating constraints off her shirt were peeled away, down of her shoulders and left there for a little while to keep her arms from stealing more than he was willing to give.

At some point, a light flashed behind her eyes and she didn't realise at first it hadn't been her own mind, firing a salvo just to spent the wound-up energy. The part of her brain still capable of thought told her that a larger asteroid would've crossed into the atmosphere of Tarsus, causing the flash and Lorca to halt in his ministrations for just a moment before he leaned down by her head and breathed her name into her ear before burning a fresh trail of measured kisses down the side of her throat to between her breasts.

He'd set her up, she thought. He'd invited her to watch the impacts on Tarsus because he'd known she would ask about what the planet meant to him and their conversation would be inevitably drawn to who Balayna Ferasini was to him and who she was not. He'd cast her into a role, she realised, he was using her because that other woman was dead and gone and there was no one left he would be accountable to.

"Stop…" she whimpered, surprised that she had spoken at all and shocked at the rough desperation there and how to true it reverberated all throughout her boneless body.

Amazingly, his reaction was instantaneous. He let go of her and her tingling skin took a long moment to play catch-up and tell her that he had leaned back from her. He was still close enough to sense him, the slight dent in the couch where he was supporting himself on an outstretched arm.

She opened her eyes and found him kneeling next to her, watching her from the angled shadows cast across his face. Although he had stopped touching her, her refusal had only freed his hands to undo his trousers and give himself long, languid strokes as he waited for her to make up her mind.

She made a frustrated sound in her throat and dug her head back into the upholstery.

"Stop _teasing,_ " she said.

He chuckled, a sound affecting her almost as much as his touch. Without any apparent reluctance, he took his hand away from himself again and slid it down the inside of her thigh. She let her knee fall against him, far too eager to see if he would comply. His fingertips barely skimmed her skin.

"Why?" he asked, fingers continue to whisper back and forth. "We have all night."

She bared her teeth and arched her hips, hoping to catch him up, but all he did was draw his hand back up to the top of her knee.

"I don't like it," she said petulantly, finally found the coordination to shrug her shirt off. She sat up too fast, a rush of blood to her head that set her vision spinning and blindly groping for him to steady herself. He remained where he was, allowed her to sink her fingers into his shoulders so hard she felt the injury through the fabric of his shirt. He didn't even flinch.

"What would you like, hmm?" he drawled by her ear. "You want me to be rough with you?"

He snapped his hand down to her ankle and used the hold to sling her leg around his waist, drag her harshly against him. Much to her dismay, the smooth material of his trousers offered no additional stimulation. Still, her imagination shot a sharp need of ecstasy through her at the thought of just how hard and how deep that thrust would've been. She gasped for breath and moaned at how close he was, wrapped her arms around his neck, her nails seeking his skin and he leaned into it, just teasing her that much more.

And there was another piece of truth, too. Rough would've allowed her to retaliate, would've swept her conscious thoughts away and allowed her to burn out her confounding feelings for him, let the fever spike and break so she could be free. And let him see the truth of himself in all of it _,_ how devious he was and how ruthless.

"Better," she muttered and realised at his sudden immobility that the edge in his voice hadn't been arousal but mockery.

"Why should I do anything you want?" he asked. "When you're already falling apart so nicely?"

She stared up into his eyes, surprised at the level of self-control he had when his pupils were blown wide, an eclipse swallowing the arctic blue.

"Would you be a sadist to her?" she demanded and let her hands glide over his shoulders and down his arms to where his hands were resting next to her hips.

He twisted one corner of his mouth.

"She's dead," he said and made a small gesture with his head, a quick glance around the room before he rested his gaze back on her face with the weight of yet another caress. "It's a different universe. Y'all keep telling me my rules don't apply here."

She slithered back a little on the synthetic fabric of the couch, still, so close she felt the heat of him, almost close enough to sense the solidity of him, but gaining the room she needed. She trailed her own hands down her body. It wasn't quite the thrill of having him fulfil her desires for her but the new sensation still wrenched a moan from her.

"And you keep telling us they do," she said, arching her head back as she slowly slid her fingers over and then inside herself. Her eyes fell closed for a moment and when she opened them again, she found his gaze had dropped away from her face so he could watch her fingers begin their work.

She caught the flash of another smile, bright and sharp like stone turning to fire outside the window, then he leant forward to place an open-mouthed kiss just underneath her breast, beginning to trail a wet line down her stomach until his chin scratched her wrist.

He glanced up, long enough to catch and hold her gaze and make her breath stutter before his focus returned downward. His tongue followed the bones of her thumb, over her knuckles, adding teeth as he freed her fingers from her so he could suck them into his mouth. 

She bit her lips, swallowing back any signs of triumph, in case it would prompt him to make a point, though perhaps having made his point, he saw no reason to keep denying her — or at least denying himself.

She wrapped one hand around his neck, digging her fingers in again, pulling at his hair just so he knew she wasn't going to let him stop until he had delivered on the promises his teasing had made.

* * *

Morning lighting automatically came on in the captain's cabin, compounding the light from Tarsus outside the window. The planet's orbit had taken it out of the first spray of destructive asteroids, allowing the people on it to scurry to what safety they could find. 

The door sensor chirped several times, announcing the visitor and wasn't answered. After a fifth attempt, Culber shrugged and put his hand on the panel to override the lock and rushed in.

He liked to think he was fairly prepared for pretty much anything, but he did do a slight double take when the first thing he saw was clothing strewn around the couch and récamier by the window and then a trail of more clothing items leading to the bed.

"Oh that's great," he said, hopefully loud enough to ungently wake the loving couple — or whatever the hell they were.

Lorca was curled possessively around Ferasini, face buried into the nape of her neck, half hidden under her tousled hair. The silky blanket was kicked halfway down his thighs, leaving nothing much to the imagination.

What surprised Culber most, though, was that somehow his first instinct was to check up on where he had removed the agoniser mere days ago. The scar was still angry red, the triangle cut precisely and viciously over his spine between his shoulder-blades. He'd had pretty much the same sight then, too, but apparently, he had been professional enough not to admire Lorca's lean, muscled back and elegant arch of his spine, even though it was such an open invitation to let the attention travel down.

Fine ass indeed, Culber thought. Fine pretty much everything.

"Hey!" he raised his voice. It didn't make him any less incensed, though, that would just be stupid.

Lorca stirred, but only to bury his face deeper into Ferasini, though Culber caught the sluggish way one of his hands dug back under the pillow, grappling for the phaser.

"Yeah, too slow," Culber said. "You're already dead."

Lorca took a deep breath and rolled to his back, then sat up, frowning across the room at Culber.

"You broke in?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

"Technically, no," Culber said. "You made me CMO, remember? If I say medical emergency the computer will let me do all sorts of illicit things."

"There's no emergency," Lorca said, rubbing a hand down his face and then up through his hair.

"Not yet," Culber said cheerfully. He took a step back and leaned his back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest and did his best to glower at Lorca without getting too distracted as the man climbed off the bed and padded to the replicator.

"Coffee, doctor?" Lorca asked. "Tea? Orange juice?"

"What are you planning?" Culber demanded, annoyed at Lorca's nonchalant behaviour. "Because I know you're planning something. You've been messing with the duty roster and you know what I saw? Why is Commander Tyler the transporter chief for third shift today?"

Lorca glanced at the side as he waited for the small cup of espresso to materialise. There was just enough visible of his face to see a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"What do you think?" Lorca asked.

"Well, I think you're planning something!"

Lorca took the cup and wandered towards Culber, and just when the doctor resigned himself to hold his breath, Lorca swerved past him and sat down at the desk. He took a sip from the coffee as the terminal display flared up.

Across the room, Ferasini had sat up, too. She gathered the blanket around herself and leaned her back and into the padding on the wall at the head of the bed. She seemed uncharacteristically subdued to Culber, but he couldn't tell if she was only slow to wake up or if there was something else going on.

"Did you know?" Culber asked her and levelled an accusing finger at her.

"No," Lorca answered in her stead. "She knows nothing."

"I know about you and Tarsus," she said.

Culber felt the sting of curiosity at her implication. What a pity he wasn't going to let himself be distracted. He turned towards Lorca, seated casually at the desk. _A little distracted,_ Culber corrected himself, might as well enjoy the view while it was on display.

Meanwhile, Lorca was looking over a long list of data feeds and said, "We can bulk transport now. Got it done last night. Tyler's already moving Tarsus' food stocks into storage."

"Yes?" Culber asked.

Fabric rustled as Ferasini slipped to her feet and Culber watched her for a moment as she made her own way to the replicator, only to come away with what looked like a simple glass of water.

Lorca looked up, too, first at her, then at Culber.

"What's your opinion on our prisoners?" Lorca asked.

"So good of you to ask," Culber said. "So, you remember Cadet Moreau?"

"Yes?"

"She's a very dutiful little security officer. Every time she's guarding the brig, she takes time out of her day to have a little chat with Maddox," Culber said, he bared his teeth. "But I'm sure it's harmless."

Lorca's expression revealed nothing of what he thought about the tidbit, except that he was definitely fitting it into his plan somewhere.

"We should kill the prisoners," Ferasini said. She had emptied half the glass and was picking up the clothes from the floor, shaking them out and disentangling them before she laid them out on the bed.

"We should," Lorca agreed mildly, without any intention of ever doing so.

Knowing his meaning full well, Ferasini shrugged and said nothing.

Lorca swiped his hand over the controls and the display widened. "Our long-range sensors have picked up imperial ships en route to Tarsus," he said even as the glittering display revealed them. There were five of them, coming from different directions. The IFF assigned them identification, but Culber wasn't too familiar with ship types to assess the level of threat. He somehow doubted the Empire was sending a few small scout ships, not after they had lost contact with three large cruisers, one of them as prestigious as the Defiant.

"How much time do we have?" Ferasini asked.

"A few days until the first ship arrives," Lorca answered. "A week for all of them, if they regroup first."

He looked across the room at Ferasini, expression darkening.

"You can shower in your own quarters," he said as he got up. "Shift's starting, I need to get ready."

Culber hadn't expected he would ever see this kind of surprised hurt on Ferasini's face, if only for the millisecond it took her to hide it behind detached haughtiness.

"What are we going to do with the prisoners?" Culber asked. "And, to come back to my original question, what are you planning?"

Lorca tilted his head to the side and regarded Culber silently, then glanced at Ferasini as she slung her clothes over her arm and picked up her boots. Still dressed in nothing but a sheet, she stood in the centre of the room, doing her best not to look like she'd lost a battle.

"I'll make an announcement," Lorca said. "But as a friendly suggestion, think long and hard about the cost of rejecting me."

Ferasini met his gaze for a long minute, looked like she was trying to read his mind, or impress her own thoughts over his. She seemed ready to say something and Culber at least was incredibly curious what it would've been. She and Lorca were cultivating the kind of unhealthy relationship the both of them would eventually needed to be rescued from.

In the end, Ferasini said nothing at all. She tilted her head like a cat who'd lost interest in some wriggling critter and was about to wander off. She measured her steps carefully as she went to the door, the sheet trailing silky and dark behind her. The door sensor picked her up and let her through and only closed when the last edge of the blanket had gone.

"What the hell does that mean?" Culber asked, exasperated.

Lorca dismissed the display and leaned back in the chair. The professional part of Culber noted how well the deep gash was healing, there was still a shallow valley in his flesh, the discolouration slowly shifting from raw red into pale, new skin.

He swallowed drily and forced himself to look at Lorca's eyes, the icy blue of them, all remnant traces of sleep thoroughly banished.

"I think I deserve more than that," Culber insisted.

Lorca took his time in answering, but when he spoke his voice was serious. "You're right," Lorca said and then nothing more.

"So?" Culber prompted.

"I'm going to make it very simple for everyone on board. They're with me, or they're not."

"'Simple' really isn't the word I'd use."

Unimpressed, Lorca arched his brows, and said, "Well, let's take it down a notch. Are _you_ with me or are you not?"

Culber blinked a few times, still held in that blue gaze, wryly he said, "Can you ask again when you're wearing pants? I may not give a straight answer otherwise."

Lorca continued to be widely unimpressed and refrained from pointing out that Culber had only himself to blame for overriding the door controls. Culber invested a little thought into that sentiment and came to the conclusion that Lorca had had it coming either.

Lorca gave a slight shrug.

"Third shift, then," he said. He powered down his terminal and got to his feet, far too close to Culber to not cause him to do a slight double-take, just to get his priorities sorted again. This was beginning to irritate Culber, who knew enough terran officials who would employ this kind of tactic to sway a negotiation in their favour.

"All right, don't talk to me," Culber said. "But you can listen to what I have to say. You're not getting your volunteers, not the ones you want and not the ones you trust."

Lorca snorted derisively at the word 'trust', Culber agreed but refused to be waylaid. He continued, "And you can't trust Landry any further than you can see her, that's why either you or Tyler is always up and about while she has the bridge. Interesting, by the way, how Tyler is the one exception to your completely justified paranoia."

Lorca looked at him and almost seemed like he was going to offer an explanation, only to think better of it with a slight shake of his head.

"You're going to do something that forces a decision," Culber finished. "On everyone of us. Something radical, I'd bet. And you don't want me or Ferasini to make the wrong choice, which is kinda sweet, but misguided in her case."

Lorca's back was to him, but he'd stopped walking to listen to Culber, his head curiously tilted and a tension running the length of his back, revealing his stillness was taking a toll. He turned his head further, just enough to make eye-contact with Culber and said, "If that is all, doctor, I'm going to take a shower."

Culber unfurled his arms only to let them hang awkwardly by his side, feeling himself exposed despite Lorca barely looking at him. Culber stood away from the table, folded his arms again and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking for a more comfortable stance. Everything about Lorca made it clear he wasn't going to deviate from his plan, whatever it was, nor was he going to give Culber anything at all.

In a last attempt, Culber said, "I've been the one on your side from the start, you know. Ferasini wanted you chained up in the basement," Culber added.

"I'm sure she still does."

"Well, and you look like you'd let her."

This tangent in their conversation wasn't going to lead anywhere useful, either.

"For fuck's sake!" Culber snapped, finally knew what to do with his hands and threw them in the air to express his frustration.

"Just so you know, whatever you're planning, Landry already knows, too. Everyone knows something's going to go down. You better get it right the first time."

Entirely unexpectedly, Lorca actually turned back to him, almost as if he had been giving Culber's words enough thought and changed his mind. Culber's mood picked itself up just slightly at the gesture, but his hope was immediately squashed when he saw the expression. Lorca understood himself as solitary in this universe. The very fact that he needed to rely on other people at all, even people who did their damnedest to befriend him, only fed into his resentment. There was no telling what he might do if pushed too hard the wrong way.

"Thank you, doctor," Lorca said, voice mild and expression almost gentle. Culber hated it when he did it that way, the manipulation made worse by how genuine his gratitude was.

Culber gave him another moment, just to see if maybe he would say anything else, but he turned his back on him again and this time walked to the ensuite bathroom without looking back.

Grumbling, Culber stood in the now empty room, wanting to punch something, or someone for that matter, however little good it would actually do.

Since Lorca had made him CMO on the ship, Culber had understood it as a given that he was most likely going to stay on board, but he had never made it clear, neither to Lorca nor to anyone else. It neatly prevented him from facing up to why he might feel like doing it in the first place. At least he wasn't alone in the conundrum. Allegiance to this Lorca was all over the place for pretty much everyone on board, mostly a confused mix of having no other options and a profound difficulty to tell the difference. No one, not Lorca, not Landry, and probably not even the people themselves, could tell which way their loyalty would fall if a decision was forced on them.

Leaving Lorca's quarters, Culber morosely thought of how he'd been clean and sober for too many days in a row.

* * *

Lorca relieved Tyler on the bridge with a nod and a glance that lingered almost too long to remain inconspicuous. It was something Lorca wouldn't have indulged in, but here he had to weigh too many risks against each other and some chances he had to take. He knew he relied too much on Tyler and if he was wrong about him, his entire planning would collapse like a house of cards. 

"Mr Zhang, ship-wide broadcast," he said almost as soon as he'd sat down.

"Ready, sir."

Lorca spared the young man a slight nod, then spoke, "Everyone, listen up. You and I, we've got a few things to clear up and I think it's just fair to do it face to face and not over a speaker. You will assemble in shuttle bay two at the beginning of the third shift. Attendance is mandatory. Only those on duty are exempt."

He paused to give the announcement a chance to settle. "That is all for now. Carry on. Lorca out."

In the wake of the short speech, the silence on the bridge was nearly absolute, the crew exchanging quick glances, fully aware Lorca had to notice but unable to stop themselves, becauseshuttle-bay two was still occupied by most of the Defiant's former crew. No one spoke up, preferring to bear the discomfort of the heavy silence than potentially expose themselves to a captain's temper.

Lorca settled into the captain's chair. He saw no reason to offer them any release from their self-imposed ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reference:** "When you see a good move, look for a better one." - chess adage, often attributed to Emanuel Lasker.
> 
> * * *
> 
> To reiterate, Lorca is fully dressed initially, eventually got naked for the sex, then was naked some more (you're welcome, Hugh) and then he's again fully dressed for the rest. 
> 
> "Ca phe trung" is the result of too much time on wikipedia. It's egg coffee. I can't decide if it sounds tasty or disgusting.


	13. Everything, alas, is an Abyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long. I've been nit-picking at it for three weeks now. I don't know anything anymore.

Lorca had hoped giving everyone a clear date would help keep them calm, but instead in the wake of his announcement tensions on board the Defiant suddenly reached a tipping point. Violence had been festering among all these people for a long time, raised and tempered in a culture that favoured brutality, their tendencies had had a direction while the fighting had lasted. Now they had had days of comparative peace, a chance to heal what injuries they had sustained and the leisure to bicker and bully among themselves once again.

Lorca refrained from directly interfering, aware that he couldn't be seen choosing sides when it was the exact thing he wanted of _them._ He let it be known he would treat every serious injury as a personal attack on himself and otherwise let things run their course. He needed to weed out the crew one way or another, but he wanted to do it himself, not just be stuck with whoever was left standing after some scuffle in the mess hall. He wouldn't accept fighting while on duty, either and the reports indicated people were showing a little restraint in that regard.

He was fairly sure it was just a question of time until someone, maybe Tyler, but more likely Balayna or Culber, suggested he reinstate the agony booths, or at least the personal agonisers. If he wanted to discipline these people, he would have to do it in a language they understood. He could almost hear either of them say it.

As he reached the doors of the brig, he pushed the thought aside. He had almost made it through the worst of it, he could get this problem fixed later. First, he needed to deal with Maddox, and Moreau, as the case may be.

The door sensors identified him before they parted and he stepped into the gloom of the brig, grim-faced and remembering the last time he had been in a place like this. If anything, the brig of the Defiant was larger than the one on the Buran had been, but similar in all other aspects. Rows of cells along the wall, partitioned off from the hallway by energy fields, the cells themselves much smaller than Starfleet regulation would allow. The agony booths were dark and silent. He would have them stripped for parts, the Defiant was bound to need them eventually when he had no space-station he could dock at to request replacements.

The brig had been reserved for Maddox and his senior staff, each in their own cell. At the far end of the corridor, Lorca spotted the slim shape of Moreau on guard duty, doing her rounds. For now, he fixed on Maddox.

The Defiant's former captain had been pacing restlessly in his small confinement, apparently a task he was so absorbed in he didn't notice Lorca until he stepped into the slightly brighter area right outside the energy field.

Maddox's reaction was immediate. He swung around and launched himself into the energy field, mouth open in an angry scream, though the sound filter didn't allow any of it to penetrate outside.

Lorca watched him with a jaded curiosity which only riled Maddox up more. To add insult to injury, Lorca glanced to the cell next to Maddox's, where Ina Grife had stepped to the barrier. Unlike her captain, she was just glowering at him and he offered her a toothy smile in return. She mouthed an insult and then pointedly turned her back on him.

He waited until Maddox's rage started to subside, then took another step in, close enough to the energy field that he would've started feeling it press back against him, had he been inside. He remembered well the sizzling, nauseating feeling of it, the sick sense of getting somewhere for a centimetre only to realise he would never make it through.

Still breathing hard in barely abated fury, Maddox had stopped shouting and was staring at Lorca.

"Computer, decrease soundproofing," Lorca said. He listened to the confirmation chirp of the computer and measured Maddox with a cool gaze.

"You got something to say to me?" Lorca asked.

Through bared teeth, Maddox snarled, "Fight me, you perverted coward!"

Lorca arched a brow. "I already won."

Maddox punched his fist into the barrier and though he did his best, he couldn't quite hide the sharp flash of pain it caused. Lorca remembered how that felt, too.

"Drop the shield!" Maddox demanded. "I'm not done with you piece of shit!"

Lorca watched Maddox steadily, giving him no response until the sheer need to engage with his enemy made the bout of rage settle into a seething glower.

Dismissing Maddox for good measure, Lorca looked down at the PADD in his hand and set it to holographic projection. He held it flat out between himself and Maddox and watched as the glowing, miniature of the solar system came alive. It showed the now familiar asteroid belt, circling ever closer to Tarsus, including the first impacts of last night.

"What's that?" Maddox demanded.

"The price of losing to me," Lorca said. "Tarsus IV is facing a series of asteroid impacts. According to my scientist, it's an extinction event, but I don't need a scientist to tell me that. We've systematically destroyed all subspace communication capability on Tarsus. They can't signal for help, not that it would arrive fast enough."

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "It's Tarsus, help always comes too late."

The bile was in his throat, even now, even after so long and from so far away. It made Maddox look up from the projection and study his face, curiosity taking the place of his anger for just a second.

"So what?" Maddox asked. "Why are you showing me this? You think I care?"

Lorca slashed a smirk across his face. "I'm showing you out of respect, one captain to another."

He gave Maddox the chance to wonder whether he was being mocked or not.

"What do I do with a ship full of prisoners?" Lorca mused aloud. "They'll get bored, they'll plot. My senior staff wants me to kill you all, but that would be… well, too easy, don't you think?"

The projection had advanced to the point where even in the small representation, the landmasses of Tarsus had changed their shape. It would be years to get to this point and invisible in the small display were the effects on atmosphere and weather. Very little would be alive on the planet by then, nothing but microbes and bacteria and if left undisturbed, that was how it would remain for a very long time to come.

Maddox stared at Lorca suspiciously, no doubt realising what Lorca was threatening him with.

Lorca said, "You and your crew will be beamed down to the planet. We've already started with those in the shuttle bay. They should consider it a privilege, they'll have a lot more room now."

Maddox had been holding back on sending detailed reports to his superiors and while the brass was aware Maddox had engaged Lorca's forces, the extent of the destruction was unknown to them. Maddox didn't know ships were already on the way and wouldn't find out he would likely be rescued well before the catastrophe on Tarsus would get to him.

"How dare you!" Maddox snarled. "Give me a chance to fight! I'll show you!"

Still smiling, Lorca merely shook his head, then turned it to look down the corridor and watch as Cadet Moreau slowly edged closer. Her own curiosity was pulling her forward while caution was telling her to keep her distance. Under Lorca's sudden attention, she remained pinned to the spot, the lack of light hiding the details of her expression. It didn't matter, Lorca already knew what role he had assigned to her.

He made a lazy gesture with his hand and called, "Marlena, come over here, don't be shy."

"Leave her alone!" Maddox shouted, but had enough restraint not to punch the shield again.

Lorca glanced over Maddox and watched as anger slowly dripped away into helpless frustration. Not a comfortable feeling, as Lorca recalled, quite enough to drive a sane man mad. Provided he had been sane to start with, of course.

Moreau reached him and stopped to salute. She was a better actor than Maddox, spared him not even a glance, her attention fully on Lorca. She betrayed no insecurity, either, now that she was close enough to observe. Lorca had given her more than enough time to school her features and work through her shock of seeing him there. She had to be wondering what he knew, though, and what he made of it.

Passing his attention over Maddox, Lorca took a step to the side and trailed a hand down Moreau's back, watching the surprise cross her face without leaving any revealing traces in her expression. Oh, she was a fantastic actor and quick on the uptake. If only he could trust her motivation.

"You sick fuck!"

Lorca switched off the hologram, Maddox was paying it no attention since Moreau had entered the scene.

"I was just telling Captain Maddox about his fate," Lorca said to Moreau. "Dying like an animal on a doomed planet. And his people are going to share it."

"Now you listen to me…!"

"Computer, soundproofing on full," Lorca said and Maddox's insult and all his impotent rage crested up against the soundproofing of his cell, leaving only himself to hear and feel it.

Lorca closed a hand around Moreau's upper arm and dragged her, unresisting, with him. He pushed her into the glass side of an agony booth, removed his hand from her to settle it into the glass by her head. His back shielded her almost completely from Maddox's view, making it impossible for him to even observe their faces. No doubt Maddox's imagination was supplying some colourful fantasies about what was being said.

She stared up at him from her large eyes, pretending to be far more defenceless than she actually was, letting him make the next move in case it turned out to be the wrong one.

"You didn't tell him about me," Lorca said. "Why?"

"Why would I?" she asked back, playfulness shone through the thin layer of her deference.

"What did you two talk about?"

She shrugged elegantly. "This and that, I told him what he wanted to hear, mostly. I remind him of his sister."

"I heard," Lorca said. " _Lorca_ got her killed."

Moreau sniggered, "Well, more like seduced her, fucked her so good she turned traitor and then dropped her for someone better. He pimped her out to officials he wanted to turn. One of them killed her. She wasn't so pretty by the end of it."

Lorca merely nodded, unsurprised at how his counterpart had been conducting himself. Balayna crossed his mind and he dismissed the memory and the unexpected pang of guilt in his throat. There would come a time when he had leisure to examine what this universe was doing to — or for — his own vices. It was certainly an interesting exercise for when he wasn't barely one step ahead of a gruesome death.

"I expect an explanation, cadet, no runaround."

To her credit, she barely fidgeted, though he was still keeping her pinned to the glass. In the darkness, the light from the cells cast a dull reflection, just enough to see Maddox still raging in his cell.

"I thought Maddox was going to talk about a lot of things he shouldn't with me," she said. "He thinks I'm going to help him escape, but I'm…" she batted her eyelashes mockingly. "… a little scared."

"What's he been saying?"

"For one, he's been holding his reports back. The brass really has no idea what's going on here. They know of the base, but they have not been informed about you, or, Captain Lorca or whatever, they don't know you're actually here. Or anything about what's been going down on Tarsus."

"I know."

Still, some confirmation Maddox hadn't used a coded channel his Captain's Override hadn't given him access to was reassuring. It meant Lorca had some time and space to breath in. If the Empire knew he was here, they would likely call a sector-wide manhunt.

"Why switch off surveillance?" Lorca asked.

"Because the wrong person could've seen it," she said so matter-of-factly, he almost took her at face value.

Lorca sighed and dropped his head. "Cadet Moreau, I really wish I could trust you."

She bit her lip, watching him, flitted a quick look past his shoulder at Maddox then back at Lorca.

"I thought we'd agreed on Marlena," she said. "I have an idea."

She stole another look at Maddox then said, "Drag me outside." She paused for half a second and added, "Sir."

Amused and curious where she was going with this, Lorca clamped his hand back around her upper arm and yanked her away from the glass. She stumbled against the force of him, but he barely felt her weight as he pulled her along to the door, then tossed her ahead of himself into the corridor, making her fight to maintain her balance.

Once outside, with the door safely closed, Moreau straightened and gave him a nod, as if congratulating him on his performance.

She followed his lead and fell into step beside him, walking down the corridor.

"Let's hear it," he said.

"Beam me down with Maddox," she said.

He felt her search the side of his face, looking and waiting for a reaction but he said nothing until she felt compelled to keep talking.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're going to do next," she said. "I guess you'll try to get home? That won't be easy, right? It'll take a long time and if you're staying in this universe, you'll need more than one ship. I could be your spy."

Why did he not trust her, though? Perhaps he had been going so far down the rabbit-hole he was starting to get in his own way. At home, he would have seen and recognised a manipulative personality in a cadet or junior officer, but he wouldn't have met them with any obvious distrust. People trusted their superiors if they showed faith in them, it was one of the first rules of command. You got the subordinates you deserved. Even if in this universe, everything seemed more complicated, some things must still hold true.

"There's no guarantee you'll be rescued," he pointed out.

Moreau was unfazed. "I doubt it. They'll want to talk to Maddox and he's not going to just let me die."

"What if you're wrong?"

She nodded, pursed her lips and slanted her gaze at him from the side. "I'll be fine, sir."

If he let her go, she had nothing which could immediately hurt him. Down on Tarsus, Maddox's knowledge wouldn't matter and by the time the Empire rescued him and got the full story, the Defiant would be long gone. It might even take off some of the heat, it was unlikely the Empire would invest the same resources hunting a fake Gabriel Lorca as they would in bringing their real enemy down.

If, however, she did ingratiate herself with Maddox and with the wider Empire through him, she could feed him whatever information she deemed fit. It could be the truth, or it could lead him straight into a trap and back into just another agony booth. Either way, he would have to trust her without the option of yanking her chain if she got out of line.

"Leighton stays," he said.

She said nothing for a moment and something had turned a little dry in her throat when she said, "He wants to, anyway."

He gave her a sidelong look and found her avoiding his gaze, though it was barely a second, not enough to reveal anything much beyond what he had heard in her voice.

He stopped walking and turned towards her.

"I want you to pull a double shift today," Lorca said. "I'll need security in shuttle bay later."

The slight frown creasing her forehead told him she suspected something more was going on, which put her roughly on even footing with everyone else on the ship. It didn't matter, because he'd always known he wouldn't be able to keep a lid on it. Now, though, it was just the show of trust she needed from him.

"I can do that, sir," she said.

He nodded, "Thank you, Commander Tyler's gonna walk you through it."

He angled his head back towards the brig. "Back to your station, cadet."

Distantly, he registered her salute as nothing out of the ordinary and remembered he'd found it strange and militaristic in the beginning. Now it just seemed the normal thing to do.

He watched Moreau walk back to the brig, already considering the precise set-up to help her insinuate herself with Maddox while keeping her on board as long as he needed her. It would work quite nicely, keep her on until everything else had passed, then beam her down alone later, giving her a handy story about escaping on her own.

On to the next step, then.

"Lorca to bridge."

_"Sir?"_

"Get rid of Maddox and the rest," he said.

That was one problem dealt with, he had a few more to go before he could allow himself a moment to just.

Breathe.

* * *

Just after the start of the third shift, Tyler's message came through, telling him everything was ready for him. The crew was already assembling in the now empty shuttle bay, but the tension running through the ship was obvious the moment Lorca left his ready room to cross the bridge. Their eyes were on him again, perhaps suspecting they had been hand-picked by him for a reason, but not knowing whether it spelt fortune or doom for them. 

He left the conn in the hands of a lieutenant, who was — or was not — someone he remembered from his Buran. One of those who'd thought the Defiant and his command was a chance for advancement they otherwise wouldn't have had, an opportunist, but someone who liked to play it safe and wouldn't spontaneously double-cross Lorca.

In any case, Lorca had spent the past few hours re-adjusting the bridge's access privileges and hard-wired much of them to him alone, ensuring no one was going to just usurp his chair. He was going to be the only person who commanded this ship today, or ever. He was the only one with any claim to it, too.

The turbo-lift carried him swiftly and smoothly downward, where he joined the last crew-members on their way to the shuttle bay.

Their attention was on him like a weight, sharp eyes scrutinising him, keeping a watchful distance from him, out of fear or biding their time, he neither could tell nor cared about.

And then something changed, even afterwards, he wouldn't be able to put a finger on it, something just before the crackling thunderstorm broke, the quiet before a lightning strike. A soldier a few steps behind him changed his pace ever so slightly, angled his body back in less than a centimetre to cause the effect. Someone much further back, barely within the range of hearing, gasped.

It wasn't even instinct that made him slow down, there was no time for anything else, just a slight shift of balance, never getting to know if he would've turned around for that advance warning. It was just enough to save his life. He saw the movement from the corner of his eyes, no more than a shadow and _now_ there was instinct and the crucial step towards the wall, taking the knife into his shoulder rather than his back. The blade scraped through the tough fabric of his shirt, but managed to slice deep into his flesh to be deflected by the bone of his shoulder-blade.

The pain was a match to tinder, fuelling him as he swung around and ducked, his hand going for the knife to stop a second stab. The blade slipped through his fingers, cutting into the skin between them, but he closed his fist around the hilt and Landry's hand.

For a moment, their eyes made contact and in her's there was cold determination, with something else, something softer and terrified swimming deep beneath the surface. Holding her hand and the deadly weapon away from him, he punched his other fist into the side of her head.

Despite the blow connecting, she controlled her fall, twisted her knife free of his grip and swiped at his legs so he dropped back into the wall of the corridor. Snarling, she jumped after him, bringing the knife back around, almost sliced his throat open as she did and leaving a shallow scratch along his jaw.

_Landry already knows,_ Culber had said. He didn't know how much, but it had been enough to trigger a decision. And once made, no Ellen Landry he knew would be swayed from what she thought she needed to do. He doubted there were enough universes strung up all parallel to each other to allow for such a thing.

Landry fell on him like a leopard, fast and vicious, teeth bared, the naked claw in her hand and with the raw desire to _hurt._ Not just incapacitate, not just finish the fight, but _win_ and make sure her opponent felt it.

Another time, another place, he would have enjoyed this, the mutual understanding that, although they were just sparring, there would be painful consequences to every slip-up, every error. He always did like Landry, more so than he should.

Once, Lorca had sat in companionable silence in a steam bath with Landry, after they'd beaten each other black and blue in the sparring ring. It had been one of the first times, after Balayna's death, that he had basked in a feeling almost like happiness. And Landry hadn't just been there, but she was the _reason,_ she meant something to him. It wasn't love though, because love never worked.

And apart from all the other things he knew about her, he knew fighting her meant to go all in.

He used the wall to launch himself back at her. Because Landry was small, when she fought she had to be fast and tough, willpower and sinews, striking faster than the eye could follow, fully intending to shred him to pieces.

His mind barely registered the pain, just mapped the points of impact to assess the damage. She was smart enough to go for his legs, throw him off balance and negate his greater strength so he let her have it. Dropped back from her and swiped his own dagger from his boot. The upward stab would have sliced open her thigh, but the re-enforced material let the blade glance off without damage.

She snarled at him, teeth bared and eyes bright, not letting have a chance to draw back, catch a breath, re-orient himself after she landed a blow against the side of his head with her elbow.

Around them, the soldiers had drawn back from them, stopped to watch without any attempt to interfere. He had no time to assess their expressions and the underlying moods, whether they were rooting for either of them or were ambivalent to the outcome. It didn't matter, because Landry filled his vision, the lightning of her blade arching a feint he fell for and she tackled him to the floor, burying her knife into the scar tissue. The blade shaved off the new skin to scratch at the bone of his collarbone.

He scrambled for her hand and the blade in an effort to keep it away from his throat and sliced open his other hand just before he buried it into her hair and twisted a rough grip around her ponytail. He yanked, wanted to pull her away, but she resisted and her blade, slid _up_ instead of down and she tore the dagger to the side, over the bridge of his nose. The blade caught the ridge of his eyebrow and sliced across his eye even as he squeezed it shut.

Curiously, there was very little pain, just an explosion of light and the hot, wet rush of blood down the side of his face, followed by a one-sided blackout that was more irritating than debilitating.

He heard himself hiss like and animal. Landry struggled in his grip, unable to get the knife into the right angle to drive the blade through his eye and into his brain. He yanked on her ponytail again, this time dislodged her and she fell backwards, scrambling to dig the knife into his chest, his stomach, his groin, on the way down, but couldn't bring in enough force to do more than scratch.

She scooted away from him, enough space to pull herself into a crouch.

He tossed the fistful of hair aside, angled his head so he could still see her as he regained his feet, eyeing her across the corridor. Her combat armour had few weaknesses, but she had opted for stealth rather than full body protection, leaving her head and face exposed and the narrow slice of vulnerable skin just below her jawline.

He stood up straight, watching her watch him through a haze of bloodlust, breathing hard in exhilaration. He threw his arms wide in invitation. He was so tired of these terrans, always threatening him, always expecting him to bow and submit when not one of them had the guts to just finish him and be done with it.

If she hadn't taken the bait, he'd have thrown his knife away and gone for her unarmed, courting whatever destruction she still had to offer, but Landry saw the exposure and reacted before her tactical mind could warn her of the trap. The moment she moved, so did he, caught her wrist with the dagger even as she was twisting away from him and wrapped his other arm around her waist in the wanton mockery of an embrace, his dagger useless against the padded armour.

She wanted him on the floor? Well, she could have him there. She tried to wind out of his grip, but failed and he kicked her legs away under her, holding on to her as she dropped so he held her down with his entire weight.

He could have stopped there. He could have kept holding her down until the fight went out of her, though there was no indication she was ready to give up, still squirming in his hold, snarling in his face.

He let go of her waist and wrapped his arm around her head, fingers digging into her temple to tilt her head to the side, opening that tiny gap between her jaw and the armour to slide the cruel blade into her vulnerable skin, his hold on her tearing up the cut even as he made it.

Landry wheezed, kicked out uselessly under his weight, as sheer panic took the place of skill and coordination. Her fingers spread and dropped the knife so she could reach for the gap in the side of the neck, fingers sliding through the blood.

Lorca tried to let go of her, gain a little space, but the side of his head was also still bleeding and he slipped, dropped to his side because he couldn't come up with a better direction. He felt like laughing as he caught sight of the audience around them. There was a slight sting of pain now, not just in his right eye, but his entire body, making him feel overextended and ready to shatter into a million brittle pieces.

Landry was making gurgling sounds, but she managed to turn her head and look at him with enough presence of mind to burn him with the abject rage she couldn't act on anymore.

Lorca forced his clenched teeth apart. "Computer, emergency medical transport. Energise."

The transporter beam swiped over them, cooly silken, granting him one heartbeat of blissful oblivion.

* * *

Unlike normal transporters, a medical transporter would not adjust or otherwise alter the position of its subjects to prevent any injuries from getting exasperated by the transport itself. Culber watched with faint amusement as Lorca and Landry were dropped on the bed in a tangle of limbs, fresh blood soiling the both of them. 

In terms of medically trained personnel, Culber hadn't exactly been spoiled. The best he had were a handful of experienced combat medics, he'd simply promoted to doctors because that's what they would be doing. Everyone else ranged from 'trained nurse' to 'had heard about first aid once'. The lot of them had been doing a fairly good job at patching everyone up, though. He had also been doing his best to ignore the fact that he himself wasn't the most qualified medical doctor in terms of patient care. Culber was just a little proud of himself and his team, even if it was too early to let it show.

Nevertheless, they knew what they were doing when the nurses rushed forward and carefully, but firmly, pulled Landry away from Lorca and put her on the bed next to him.

Culber glanced over Lorca, watched as he groaned, holding a bloodied hand over the side of his face while he looked on as the medics got to work on Landry. She had a knife stuck in the side of her neck, bleeding profusely from the gap it had made.

"Save her," Lorca croaked roughly and his voice didn't carry, but he was no longer someone anyone would dare ignore and the medic in charge gave a curt nod.

Culber stepped close as the medical scanner slid into place over Landry and read the data as it spooled over the screen. She would live, he was willing to guarantee it. He wasn't so sure for how long, however.

Satisfied with Landry's stable status, Culber turned his attention to Lorca. A handful of other nurses and newly-appointed doctors were holding back from him and looking to Culber for a pointer. Nobody wanted to approach Lorca the wrong way while a superior was there to do it for them. Which, much to Culber's chagrin, must be him.

Lorca had kept himself upright until he was sure his order was being followed. Then he gave a small, nearly inaudible sigh and slowly lay back, wincing as he settled his shoulder on the bed and letting one leg dangle limply over the side.

Culber walked around Lorca with a handheld scanner in hand to get some oversight of his status. The scanner registered several minor cuts along his chest, stomach and the side of his thigh. Less than ideally, the recently closed injury across his chest had been reopened in a few places. There was a deeper wound on his shoulder, a slash that had cut to the bone.

Culber came to stand next to Lorca and moved the scanner over the side of his face Lorca was hiding.

"Let me see," Culber said as he lowered the handheld scanner. There was a much more powerful one built right into that bed, all Lorca needed to do was move his damn hand.

Rather than comply, Lorca chuckled, it sounded like there was blood congealing in his throat and when he opened his mouth, it clung to his teeth.

"You've pretty much already seen it all, doctor," Lorca croaked.

"Yes, and the view was great," Culber said, no point in denying the obvious, which the bastard knew well enough anyway. The best part, though, was that right here and now, Culber couldn't have cared less.

"Let me see," he said again.

Far too annoyed to wait for his patient to stop riding that adrenaline high he was on, Culber simply gripped Lorca's wrist and tugged the hand away and down. Lorca was unresisting in his hand right until Culber almost had the wrist in the manacle on the side of the bed. Lorca instantly reacted when he realised what was going on, twisted his wrist free and dug his finger's into Culber's shirt.

Lorca levered himself up and opened his good eye, glaring at the doctor who spread out his hands to placate him and tried a soothing smile.

"I'm _helping_ you," Culber said. "You need to keep still."

"I can keep still," Lorca sneered but didn't fight back when Culber freed himself from his grip, leaving fresh blood stains behind on Culber's front.

"Very good," Culber said, sardonically encouraging. "Then prove it."

Either Lorca had decided to be more compliant or the slight challenge was enough to trick him into it, it didn't matter. Lorca resettled himself on the bed and leaned back as the scanner closed over his head.

"Doctor?" Lorca asked, not giving the scanner time to run its course, voice slightly hollowed out under the machine.

"Keep still," Culber said again. "In case you haven't guessed already, Landry's slit open your eyeball."

Lorca made a groaning sound and gave no answer.

"The lens suffered lacerations, but the good news is, the nerve is still mostly intact," Culber continued. "All we've got to do is fix the sclera, pump it back up with healing gel until the body's replaced the fluid. Cornea and lens can close their gaps with the proper therapy. You won't lose the eye..."

"I need to be in shuttle bay," Lorca interrupted.

"…unless we delay the surgery," Culber finished.

"Do _something_ ," Lorca said, an order if there ever had been one. High-ranked military, Culber thought and snorted as he turned away to retrieve his tools. They thought reality itself would just bend over backwards if they used that tone. He considered asking if it was like that in Lorca's other universe or if he'd just gone native, get a rise out of the man on what was an obvious sore topic.

Returning, Culber retracted the scanner.

"I can fix your eyelid," Culber offered with a shrug.

Lorca's hand twitched upward, clearly wanting to cover the eye again, then he thought better of it and just sucked in a deep breath.

Culber reached for a hypospray only to have Lorca edge away from him with a suspicious look at the device.

"It's anaesthetic," Culber said. "You don't want it? Fine, I'll let you suffer."

Lorca breathed again, blinked his good eye closed and visibly tried to relax. "I'm sorry, doctor," he said. "It's just easier that way."

Easier to distrust than to trust and be wrong. Lorca hadn't had the chance to learn anything else since he'd appeared in the universe, as far as Culber knew. Or at least, Lorca _thought_ he hadn't. Personally, Culber blamed Ferasini and whatever depraved little game she had been playing with Lorca — the fact that she seemed to be _losing_ it didn't count in her favour much, in Culber's estimate. Everyone else had been doing nothing but jump when Lorca called. Most of them really didn't deserve this level of suspicion.

"Well, that's just bullshit," Culber snapped. "You've waltzed in and taken over and there's barely been any resistance, give us some credit."

"Ellen stabbed my eye."

"That's because of the waltzing in and taking over part. Her attack just proves your success and she was alone, wasn't she? No one helped her."

"No one helped me."

Lorca was starting to sound petulant, still deflating on the bed as the adrenaline wore off and the pain ebbed up through him. A thin sheen of cold sweat was forming all over him. Culber cast a quick look at his body functions to make sure he wasn't drifting into shock.

"I wasn't there, but it looks pretty much like you had it under control," Culber said. "It's a sign of _respect_. They _respect_ you. Now, you're going to ask for that anaesthetic or you're not going to get it."

Lorca surprised him again, he hadn't just followed their conversation, he had actually listened to it and must have given it some thought. Through the disfigurement and the coating of blood, his expression lost its resentment.

"Of course I want the anaesthetic," Lorca said, carefully pitched his voice so it wasn't quite an order and wouldn't rile Culber up further. But perhaps he just wanted to be fixed up faster so he could do whatever he had planned to do in shuttle bay.

Culber put the hypospray against Lorca's temple. Lorca took another shuddering breath when the painkiller hit, only now even registering how he had been in pain at all. The tense set of his body eased up gradually and Culber noted how Lorca's breathing pattern and heart-rate evened out, too.

The eyelid itself was an easy fix, accelerated cell division knit the thin membrane together within minutes, leaving no sign of the damage at all, which couldn't be said for the eye underneath.

Culber considered just knocking Lorca out with another hypospray and get the surgery done. It wouldn't be a very good trust-building exercise, considering how Lorca felt about it and Culber much preferred Lorca at least _somewhat_ tractable for future encounters.

So instead of doing the right thing, Culber did the smart thing and fitted a temporary eye-patch over the socket to stabilise the eye and at least prevent the damage from exasperating. Black and metallic-looking, the eyepatch was designed to mould itself to the exact shape of the tissue underneath, gently keeping everything in place.

"Sit up," Culber said. "Gotta fix that shoulder and the rest of your injuries."

Lorca did as he was told without complaint, shrugged out of his torn shirt and then resettled on the bed calmly. It wasn't all fake, either, Culber noted with a look at the life-sign readings.

While Culber fixed the tissue damage on his shoulder, the cut-up hand and ascertained no more severe injury had been inflicted, Lorca raised his good hand and traced the outline of the patch with his fingers, turning his head to test the new limits of his perception.

"Good thing I keep the poisons locked up tight," Culber said as he treated the most superficial scratches.

"Keep doing that," Lorca said and Culber pursed his lips, nodding at the obvious truth of it. Eventually some enterprising crew-member would brew their own and apply it to a particularly disliked superior, but Culber decided Lorca didn't need to know that just yet.

Culber switched the medical tool off and leaned his hand into the bed next to Lorca, saying, "Best I can do."

He raised a finger at Lorca and added, "You get back here when you're done, I don't want to toss one of your pretty eyes into the trash."

A slight smile threatened Lorca's expression, flicking his one-sided gaze up and down on Culber and said, "You changed the duty roster. You were supposed to be in shuttle bay, too."

Culber smirked. "I knew some people who needed to go more badly than I, someone's gotta hold the line."

Lorca took a slight breath and Culber lifted his hand, surprised it actually made Lorca shut up.

" _Don't._ Say 'thank you', it freaks me out every time."

Mild curiosity crossed Lorca's face, but he didn't press further, only nodded with his eyebrow raised to communicate the question.

"Are we done?" Lorca asked.

With a sigh, Culber said, "Yeah, off you go."

Lorca slipped from the bed and stood up. Culber had cleaned the injuries, but plenty of blood still crusted down his neck and chest. He picked up the torn shirt and slid it back on.

"Lorca to the transporter room," Lorca said. The zipper on his shirt had broken, getting stuck just over his collarbone, where it left the scar exposed.

_"Tyler here,"_ the commander said. _"Glad you're still in one piece, sir."_

Lorca stopped tugging at the zipper and for some reason, he looked back at Culber as if he expected him to understand the unspoken frustration in his pale face. Culber frowned back at him, saying nothing.

"No one with the bite to put me out of my misery, commander," Lorca said. "Are we still good to go?"

_"Yes… but, I wouldn't wait for much longer, sir."_

Lorca arched his brows, or tried to. He smoothed his fingers along the upper edge of the patch.

"I'm on my way. Wait for my signal."

_"Yes, sir. Tyler out."_

Lorca didn't immediately leave sickbay, however. He wandered across the room to where Landry was strapped to her bed. Though immobilised not only by the manacles at hands and feet, she could do nothing but glare up at him as he leaned over her.

"Brings back memories," Lorca said.

Landry blinked a few times, still dazed and her voice was rough and weak from the damage to her vocal cords inflicted by Lorca's knife.

"What now?"

Lorca shook his head, dismissing her question. "Do you regret attacking my ship?" he asked. "Or do you just regret keeping me alive?"

She managed to pull a teeth-baring sneer. "Never regret anything."

"And you didn't even make the call."

Her eyes flickered closed, exhaustion or a wash of painkillers or just the very same irritation at the same old argument he was experiencing on a constant basis. Lorca's face mimicked her expression almost subconsciously, crusted blood and all.

Culber stopped on Landry's other side, ostensibly to check her vitals, but also to combat the anxiety stirring deep in his guts. Surely Lorca wouldn't just order them to save Landry only to kill her himself, would he?

Lorca glanced up, angled his head to the side and said, "Can you get her back on her feet?"

"No?"

Lorca waved a hand in the air, "I know you've got plenty you can shoot her up with."

"Medically speaking, I advise against…"

"Objection noted," Lorca interrupted. "Can you do it?"

"If I said 'no', would you believe me?" Culber asked, already reaching for the hypospray and changing the setting on it.

"Not if you phrase it like that," Lorca said, arched his eyebrow again, then frowned and shook his head at the irritation it caused on the other side of his head.

"You could just talk to me," Culber said. Landry's neck was bandaged, so he shifted her right arm up to deliver the charge into her armpit. A shudder went through her instantly as the drug kicked her mind back into focus, negating the calming effect of the painkiller she had been given before.

Her frown passed over Culber, then dug right into Lorca.

"I know," Lorca said. "Prepare an away mission medical kit."

"That's not the explanation I have been hoping for…" Culber muttered.

Lorca looked at him, one eye dark and the metal patch catching the light on the other side, Culber couldn't quite tell which one was more inscrutable.

"I know," Lorca said again.

* * *

Passively, Landry let the effects of Culber's drug trickle through her mind after the first shock and the urge to _move_ it had brought with it, sudden and sharp, the need to finish what she'd started. 

Two things had been on her mind even before and now floated gently in her awareness. Lorca was not dead. And she was not dead, either. She felt the tug on her throat and the numerous smaller lacerations and bruises on the rest of her body. Breathing was uncomfortable and swallowing took an act of will. She knew her injuries were quite minor, able to kill her only if help hadn't been given quickly.

Looking back at Lorca's stony face, the mark she had left there, she knew it had been a mistake to take him on like that and in public. She had dallied too long, uncertain of her own decision, unsure when the moment to displace him had come, when she didn't need him anymore. The moment, she thought, had come unseen and passed long before she'd realised it.

He had not been alone, though, not since she had been done thinking and began acting. Perhaps she could have approached Ferasini and found an ally there, but Landry couldn't quite fathom what attachment there was between him and her, not enough to be sure of Ferasini's aid and her willingness and ability to render it.

She couldn't well attack him on the bridge, couldn't get to him in his ready room, wasn't stupid enough to approach him during a sparring session, when he was already honing his killing edge.

Lorca exchanged the bed's manacles for solid handcuffs, resting tightly around her wrists and capable to deliver a painful shock if whoever was on the other end of that leash so desired. Disdainfully, she thought she was safe from that at least, with Lorca's dislike for such devices. She presumed it had little to do with a moral stance, he just didn't like how quickly and thoroughly they rendered him powerless.

There was no help to gain from Culber and the people he had roped into his team, though some still retained enough decency to avoid meeting her gaze.

"I've changed my mind," she said. Lorca turned his head so he could fix her with his one eye, the lopsided angle making him look arrogant and familiar and hard to resist. The zipper of his shirt had jammed halfway up his chest. The asymmetrical silver line followed the same direction as the injury underneath. His blood crusted to his collar, over his shoulder and his sleeve while her blood had left ugly patches on the other side.

"I should've killed you," she said.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward in the simulacrum of a smile. He put a hand to her upper arm, barely any pressure and the gentleness was hard to interpret as anything else but an insult.

"I told you so," he said simply.

He marched her through sickbay and she saw no reason to make it more difficult. She had an inkling of what he was about to do and couldn't deny the sense of thrill at watching it all play out, even if it should turn out to be her defeat. Losing to him, it was just a pale shadow of what the Emperor would experience when she lost her empire upon the captain's return. It certainly was an experience.

"It doesn't have to go this way," she said. "We had an agreement."

Lorca chuckled mirthlessly. "And we both broke it. Your point?"

The corridors outside sickbay were empty. The skeleton crew he had deemed trustworthy were at their stations and the rest would've assembled in the shuttle bay, impatiently waiting for the resolution they had been promised.

"What if it doesn't go your way?"

He only shrugged, the movement travelling through her arm ever so slightly.

"You want to revive our agreement?" he asked, sounding conversational.

"We don't have to be enemies," she insisted. She stepped into the turbo-lift ahead of him, felt the prickling of his vicinity in the enclosed space. He was still holding on to her arm, though she had neither the strength nor the opportunity to get away. Not quite the inclination, either.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, moving a scant few centimetres behind her.

"But we _are_ enemies," he said and the turbo-lift slid smoothly to a halt and they stepped out.

There wasn't even any anger left in his voice, just utter, unabridged finality, the kind of absolute truth that had allowed another man to cross universes to get what he wanted and left _this_ universe without anything left to fight with.

"You fit here," Landry said and knew the eager little shiver in her own voice was partially fear and partially a side-effect of Culber's drug. All the rest of it was twisted excitement which belonged all to herself.

He gave her a slight shove, into the door sensors outside shuttle bay 2 and said nothing. There was no denial for him to be had and no argument he needed to make for her benefit.

"Computer," he said as he stepped inside after her. "Open shuttle bay doors."

The computer acknowledged the order, activated the energy field and opened the doors slowly to the gorgeous and devastating view of Tarsus IV just below them, bathed in the splintering glitter of the asteroid shower destroying it.

Landry took in the view only for the first second, concentrated instead on the people in the bay. All shuttles had been moved to shuttle bay 1 to make room for the Defiant's crew. They hadn't been moved back, leaving just a huge, empty space, occupied with what was left of the Buran's crew and the staff and soldiers from the base. The impatience in the room was thick, she saw groups of people in tight clusters, arguing with each other, though the opening doors broke them up ever so slightly.

A line of armed security guards had taken position roughly in the middle of the hall, unmoving and stiff. Landry spotted Moreau and Leighton among them. Close to the entrance, scaffolding had been set up as an impromptu podium. It was only three steps off the ground, enough to allow everyone to see clearly whoever was standing on it.

Ferasini leaned on the bottom of it, elbows resting on the podium and toying idly with a communicator. Next to her, the newly appointed governor Kodos stood perfectly still, a thoughtful dignity in his poise. Neither of them, however, knew exactly what was going to happen next.

Lorca disdained the podium, simply marched forward with Landry in his hands and into the centre of the hall. It didn't take long until all attention was back on him, the destruction of an entire planet nothing in comparison to the spectacle.

Landry wasn't surprised when he gave her a shove, much rougher than when they had been unobserved, he took his other hand to her shoulder and pushed her to her knees, then stepped back.

She considered getting back up, but didn't want to make a pathetic spectacle out of herself and instead just lifted her head and turned it so she could at least try to keep him in her line of sight to prove she wasn't afraid to look at him.

Lorca paced a widening circle around her, twice until he had everyone's undivided attention and left Landry the lonely centre of his spectacle. Whenever Lorca wasn't looking directly at her, she took the chance to scan the assembled crowd for familiar and sympathetic faces, but just as before, none of her old senior staff was present. It made sense for Lorca to pick them out one by one before their combined influence could counterbalance his own. Still, it was disappointing to find they _all_ had gone down, especially after they had fought so well for the Buran.

Of the soldiers, she could tell they had spread out in clusters according to their shifting allegiance, but the few who looked like they considered coming to her aid didn't dare breach the circle Lorca had drawn around her. Not yet, at least.

"I've asked you here," Lorca began. "And then I kept you waiting, but I promise nothing has changed."

If the slightly bewildered expression on Ferasini's face was any indication, Lorca wasn't sticking to his own script. The podium had clearly been set up to enable him to be seen while keeping him out of easy reach of an attack, the room's speaker system perhaps connected to the communicator still uselessly in Ferasini's hand.

There was something clever about doing it this way, though. The room was large, but while its acoustic would make for a sorry opera, it did carry Lorca's voice well enough for him to not be misheard even by those furthest away. Instead, everyone was forced into silence, stopping even the shuffling of feet and the shift of clothing to allow them to follow Lorca's words.

"I'm not going to play with words," Lorca continued. "Or lie to you."

His pacing had slowed, but not come to a halt, making eye contact with everyone in passing, never showing his back to anyone for too long.

"It's been not even a week since I took this ship and I've asked only for volunteers to crew her." He paused, the duration of an inhale, narrowing his eyes and resting them on Landry only to take his gaze away when he said, "Yet they didn't come. Which is why we need to talk. No ship can make a journey with her crew in conflict."

Another step, completing a quarter circle, bringing him right behind Landry and she would have to get up to still see him.

"So there's just one question you have to answer: Do you want to be a member of the crew of the Defiant? And you're going to decide _right now._ "

He had stopped, Landry realised. His back to her, the only way he could make it an uninviting target, because no matter what she did, she wouldn't get out of the way of an attacker, not before his security guards had time to warn him and she wouldn't be able to do enough damage fast enough on her own.

Someone moved, a few scant centimetres into the open space Lorca had declared and Landry saw it from the corner of her eyes, looked up to match gazes with a young man, looking intently from her to Lorca, asking her permission.

She could see it play out in her mind's eye, wondered if it was a memory, of an incident Captain Lorca had faced at some point, some young contender thinking they could use his seeming vulnerability only to learn — painfully — that Captain Lorca had no such thing.

"Make no mistake, this is not a Terran ship anymore," Lorca said as if he deliberately wanted to antagonise the people he sought to recruit. "I respect my crew and I demand respect in return. There won't be any agonisers on my ship, no agony booths, I don't humiliate or torture. No officer will take any liberties with their subordinates. We do not lay a finger on each other on my ship unless it is in self-defence. Promotions will be earned through hard work."

The wintery cold of a smile passed through his tone. "We have a whole galaxy against us and I promise more than enough enemies to satisfy all your appetites."

Landry held the young man's gaze, hoping to impress her thoughts on him as if mere willpower could give her the telepathic skill to do so. She cast her gaze down and shook her head in the faintest of gestures. When she looked up again, his face was a mask of confused fury, but he drew back behind the line.

"And know one more thing, too, there will be only _one_ Gabriel Lorca on my ship, we follow _my_ rules here."

He swung back around and fell into a long-legged stride as he walked past Landry, this time without stopping, glancing back over his shoulder and Landry saw a glint in the toxic cobalt of his eyes.

Louder, just on the edge of shouting, he said, "You come with me. _Now._ I won't ask again. _"_

Some had fought beside him in New Anchorage and had hoped they would not have to declare for him openly, those were probably the first who followed him. The ones who knew him, or thought they did, and wanted to have him as their leader after everything he had achieved for them.

It didn't go smoothly, the conflict he himself had fostered had taken deep roots in the minds of the soldiers and the surviving crew-members of the Buran. Everyone had known this kind of choice would eventually come, but they weren't completely prepared to show their hand right then, in front of their friends and comrades, betraying Landry when she was right there.

The first trickle of people followed Lorca without incident through the loose line of the security guards, those who had already decided to stay anyway or who had no reason not to take a good deal when it was being offered. Landry sneered at them as she struggled to stand. They would've betrayed them to Maddox just as easily and part of her hoped Lorca would choke on them.

After the first, though regardless of their motivation, the dam was broken and the trickle strengthened. Groups broke loose from others and marched across the hall, while more were still engaged in debate, some of them shouting at each other or at someone's retreating back. Off in a corner, the argument turned violent, but Lorca made a sharp gesture at the nearest security guard to stay out of it. Eventually, a woman with a bloody nose marched past Landry while another woman was helped back to her feet by her friends.

Lorca finally climbed the podium and surveyed the hall from the vantage point, doing a count, just as Landry did, though, she didn't want to turn around. Not quite half of them, Landry guessed, but she spotted enough Buran crew-members on Lorca's side to be bothered. How fast they forgot their place, the pieces of their ship were barely burned up and here they were already pledging to another.

Something else nagged itself to the forefront of Landry's thoughts as she observed the setup, the clean line drawn across the centre of the shuttle bay by the guards. Shuttle bay 2, she thought. Where they'd been keeping Maddox's people until this very afternoon. Just as she finished line of thinking to its inevitable conclusion, the energy field was activated, just in front of the guards, locking Landry in with the last of the faithful.

Behind them, the gaping open doors of the shuttle bay loomed, the view of Tarsus just below them and the asteroids destroying it. Just the thin layer of an energy field separating them from a quick, but excruciating death in the vacuum of space. Well then, Landry thought, too tired to be anything but darkly amused by this final reversal of fortune. She missed her captain, more intensely whenever she looked at this distorted mirror image of him for too long. She couldn't quite decide if the sight of him, now that she was going to die, made everything better or everything worse.

She met his gaze across the distance, felt the touch of it over her face and her heart stuttered, making her throat ache at the strain of it.

Lorca held out his hand and after a short, puzzled hesitation, Ferasini gave him the communicator she'd been holding. It barely amplified Lorca's voice above a normal level, just enough to be heard, now that he was further away from many of them.

He swept that gaze away from Landry and over the soldiers behind and beside her, the ones who had rejected him, but when he spoke, Landry realised he was talking to _his_ people.

"Look at it," he said. He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. "Tarsus IV dying just for us. And those people? Who made the wrong choice? I want you to think about what'll happen to them next."

He paused, to give them the space to do so. Even at the distance, his face was a perfectly carved mask of supreme confidence and tightly-controlled savagery.

Landry snorted a laugh to herself and tasted blood at the back of her tongue. She didn't need to be a telepath for _that._ Everyone was thinking the same. There could be only one reason why he had split them up the way he had, why he had opened the shuttle bay doors. He was delivering a lesson, to establish himself once and for all, or so he thought. Landry knew better, of course, he would have to conceive many more such exhibitions until he'd rid his new followers of any doubt.

She glanced around, watched the glittering of the asteroid shards catching fire on the way to the surface. Lorca spoke again and she turned to look at him to see him restrain a triumphant smirk.

He said, "And now you'll realise that none of you can ever predict what I'd do."

He flicked his thumb over the control of the communicator and said, "Commander Tyler, beam them down."

_"Aye, Captain."_

The first batch of soldiers vanished from behind Landry, she heard the rush of it and the mutter of confusion and suspicious relief of the others. One by one, they were taken away until only Landry remained.

Lorca jumped from the podium and left the communicator behind as he stepped close to the energy field separating them. Landry considered meeting him halfway, but then remained where she was. He'd get nothing more from her than what he could force.

"I'm setting you down in an area that's going be unaffected for a while," Lorca said and there was almost something like affection in his expression now, a velveteen cover on the roughness of his voice. "A good distance away from where we dumped Maddox. The Empire's gonna come and save you."

She said nothing, tilted her head and focussed on the sharp pull on the skin on the side of her throat. The Empire would never save anyone. It would swallow them and chew them up and spit them out mangled and broken beyond repair. It would've been kinder to jettison them into the unfeeling emptiness looming behind them.

Landry felt the whisper of the transporter beam crawl down her body. As her vision faded, she saw Lorca turn away from her, facing his crew once again.

Lorca's voice reached her through the insulating aura of the transporter beam, a warmth there she hadn't realised she'd missed until she heard it directed at others.

"Welcome to Defiant," he said.

He was so far away already, like history repeating itself and then she found herself again, discarded to the surface of a dying planet. In her mind, a thought circled like a curious shark: They should've let him burn up with his ship in that pathetic universe of his, where he had been kept harmlessly domesticated.

Luck might turn any idiot into a conqueror. History was full of them, over-ambitious and foolish and arrogant, set up to fail from the moment they rose above their meagre talents. But for Lorca, it was just one more opportunity to prove his mastery. He had taken everything in his way and now he was turning himself from a usurper into a king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Everything, alas, is an abyss, — actions, desires, dreams, Words!" — Charles Baudelaire_
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Author's Note:** I can't think of anything witty to say. There will be an epilogue, but otherwise, this story is done. I hope it was a decent ride. 
> 
> I'm also sorry for being AWOL and not replying to comments. There are times like these, sometimes.


	14. Epilogue: Crushed Rivers and Unachievable Distances

**_Six months later…_ **

This night's lover was sprawled on the other side of the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets, back exposed in willing vulnerability towards Lorca.

Lorca traced the lines of the bare back with his gaze and stopped himself from reaching out, touching the valley of the spine and tease his way down. The mark of the agoniser was present, off-centre, unlike his own, an old, faint outline just about visible in the beginning brightening of a simulated morning. If he meant to touch idly like that, he would have to be ready for the burst of instinctual violence. Every so often, it quite had its appeal.

Terrans, he had found, considered it part of their duty to proposition their superiors, regardless of personal attraction or preference. They were available to him _._ It made him feel guilty every time, like he was exploiting them, no better than their terran commanders would. For once, though, it was easy to relegate the nagging sense of contrition to the back of his mind. All he had to do was face up to the fact that his private life had been a mess long before he'd been dropped in an environment which not only tolerated but encouraged such behaviour. It hadn't bothered him then, no reason to start now.

The only real issue he encountered was making it clear that sleeping with him would not award anyone any special privileges, there was not going to be any opportunity for advancement through his bed.

Letting them stay with him afterwards had quickly become a rare occurrence, not after the first attempt to slit his throat after he'd drifted off. His anger had flared almost entirely at himself, for letting his guard down when he knew better. He did trust this one, and perhaps it was just another indulgence, something else he should feel guilty about and didn't.

With the exception of a select few, Lorca didn't much like his crew. Too loud and aggressive, too stand-offish, eager to brag and one-up each other. They were all bullies of one kind or another. He knew he would never mould them into a single unit, more than the number of its part. The first time he had realised it, he had felt a wave of homesickness crash over him. He still felt it whittle away at his perseverance, unwilling to fully subside, but it was just another vexing fact in what had become his existence. One he had chosen to embrace when he had chosen to fight and survive.

Counter to his every expectation, the moment he offered them an outside enemy to focus on, they came together without any cracks between, their constant in-fighting forgotten and he their unchallenged leader.

Turning his attention fully to the PADD he allowed the cold grasp of reality to slide across his naked skin, even in the comfort of his own bed and inside the shell of a ship all his own.

Information and knowledge in the Terran Empire, he had learned, were uncertain things. Official channels, while widely available without risk of exposing himself, had a habit of reporting events through the lens of convenience, saving face for the ones in charge, propaganda to keep the Empire from collapsing in on itself.

Other channels, agents and spies and the broadcasts of counter-movements, they all offered their own versions of events, leaving Lorca to distil the actual truth from a sea of half-lies. Moreau had kept her promises, as far as he was able to determine, providing invaluable clues to how the news was best interpreted.

The first rumours had come through weeks before, whispers of the return of Michael Burnham, reclaiming her ship like a vengeful goddess. It couldn't be true, _that_ woman would never return, her gutted corpse had burned to cinders alongside his ship and his crew, which left only one other alternative. This was the Michael Burnham from his universe, somehow crossed over to impersonate her counterpart. _Lorca_ had found her and brought her back, just as he'd said he would. After months spent in that other Lorca's universe, he couldn't quite summon the same white-hot fury directed at that man. Walk a mile in another's shoes and all that. Didn't mean he wouldn't gladly disembowel him, too, but it was as idle a fantasy as any.

The rumours remained conspicuously silent on one or another Gabriel Lorca and his whereabouts.

Even now, just reading it, Lorca felt the urge to get up, go to the bridge and set a course. Rendezvous with the Shenzhou, attack her and take Burnham just so he could talk to her. Even now. Even though he knew he was looking weeks into the past. He had been half a galaxy away and by the time Moreau was able to send a message, his chance had already come and gone. He didn't even get to find out if this woman would've helped him at all. For all he knew, she had been just a puppet dancing on a string.

Eventually, the full scope of events crashed over him with the same tidal wave that flooded through the empire. The Emperor had been deposed, her palace ship extinguished with everyone on board, leaving no trace but some unknown radiation neither official nor unofficial sources managed to precisely identify. The entire area of space had been declared off-limits to all private or military vessels. 

Not that there was any coherent effort to enforce any one policy. In the absence of an obvious heir, the Terran Empire was left to deal with a massive power vacuum and everyone, it seemed, felt destined to write their own name into the annals of history as Emperor Georgiou's successor. The only one absent, with an echoing silence across the entirety of the empire, was Gabriel Lorca himself.

Lorca scrolled through the intel he'd been amassing on the terrans and their military movements and capabilities, their policies and power structures, collected with the zeal of an outsider, who had every reason to devour each tiny morsel.

He barely needed to check the distances involved, however. If he'd kicked the Defiant into warp 8 at the first hint of a rumour, he would've arrived only to crash into a field of debris. They might have been just in time to see the fires, though, and part of him regretted missing the chance. He should go back there anyway, sneak past the patrols and sensor buoys. Someone had crossed over from his universe, perhaps they were still there and he could hitch a ride. And even if not, perhaps there was some precious data to gather on the site anyway.

He lowered the PADD and dropped his head back to the pillow at his neck, watched the wash of stars go by outside. They were few and far between, precious, cold lights far away in the endless darkness of empty space.

Below the windows, the slow glow of the cabin's light began to brighten and he watched it simulate a gentle sunrise. He narrowed his eyes, observing detachedly the different perception in his right and left eye.

Culber still hadn't grown tired of reminding him of his mistake. He had delayed the surgery for too long. His eye was repairable only by a specialist now, but until he could abduct one and steal the necessary equipment, he was stuck with one eye that suffered light change slower than the other.

The increasing brightness burrowed through his nerves and into his head, leaving him feeling raw and defenceless, urging him to turn away or close his eyes. The irony, once again, wasn't lost on him. Did it make him worse off than the terrans? Or did he still have half an advantage over them? Half of a better man, perhaps?

It was the best he could do, he supposed. In a way, it was amusing to think of making that argument in front of a Federation hearing. In his mind, he could play it out, the two contradicting stories he could tell them. How he had tried, how he had done his best and fought tooth and nail against every compromise. How he suffered these horrors he could not prevent. How would they ever see through his lies? They would only ever have his word for it, after all.

He liked to think, however, that he would tell them the truth. He would own up to his mistakes all the way down to every petty, little cruelty he had committed not out of necessity but convenience — and sometimes even _just because,_ just because there was no one to stop him and no one who would hold him accountable after the fact. He would confess his crimes, in horrifying and unabridged detail. He could hold out his hands and let them know they should be dripping with blood.

If they ever got to pass judgement on him, he would never serve on a starship again, much less in a captain's chair. Strangely enough, it just made him want to go home more, where better people than he were in charge, able and willing to make things right.

He slid from the bed, squinted his eye shut for the additional time it took to adjust as he came closer to the light sources. He walked to the window, leaned on outstretched arms on the sill, close enough he felt the cold emanating from the other side. He wished his reflection looked like a stranger to him. This other Lorca, who might or might not have died in the conflagration that took down the Charon. But it was just his face — _his_ face, too, inevitable —every time, same it had ever been. A little older and worn, perhaps, but for all that, the ugly truth remained hidden away on the inside. 

The mark around his eye had healed without leaving a trace and even the faint line down his chest had almost vanished. Only the agoniser on his back had left a scar he was never going to lose, buried too deep for some reason, marking him forever. Better this way, he thought, if he ever got to go home, it would serve as a reminder that none of this had ever been just a nightmare.

"Captain?" voice rough from sleep, accompanied by the soft whisper of sheets.

He glanced over his shoulder at the bed. _Gabriel,_ he thought, considered offering it, just for the pleasure of hearing someone say it back to him. But then, it would just be one of these privileges he couldn't hand out. He said nothing.

"Are you coming back here or do you want me to leave?"

Lorca turned around and took a step towards the bed, just about catching his reflection's expression break into a raptorial smile, decision already made, rendering his remorseful musings completely meaningless when he was just going to transgress again.

As he turned, the streaking stars outside suddenly condensed into sparkling diamonds. They had dropped out of warp.

Almost instantly, the call from the bridge came through, Kodos' voice invading his quarters and disturbing the gloomy tranquility of his mind.

_"Captain, we've caught up with the ISS Maikong, should we engage?"_

Lorca thought about it. They'd been chasing a small, terran patrol ship, an easy target without the firepower or the crew complement to put up a fight. It had been their usual modus operandi. They'd take the ship and completely strip it for parts and sell what was left to a black market junkyard in some tenuously pacified part of the galaxy. He hoped there was no surrender this time. It was so much easier justify killing them when they were fighting back. It was also much easier than having to let his crew _play._

"Go to yellow alert," Lorca ordered, tracing his gaze over the spread out limbs of this night's lover. "Jam their comms, don't engage."

He strode back to the bed when the glare of the yellow alert breached the early morning serenity of his quarters. The shrill alarm took care of the rest. Lorca chuckled darkly at the annoyed groan coming from the bed, but he minded neither the light nor the noise. It added a sense of urgency, an edge and a force as he closed his hand around a hard-boned wrist and pin the arm to the bed, pulling himself up above the bed, only to lean back down for a hard kiss.

"I'll be a few minutes," Lorca added into the open mouth under him. "Or a few more. Lorca out."

If he kept a tally, it would be another strike. Being late to the bridge in a combat situation, just so he could fuck a member of his crew — better make that two strikes. It barely seemed to matter, though, when he had already committed crimes far more severe. Abandonment of prisoners, refusing to aid a civilian colony in need, numerous acts of piracy ever since he'd got the Defiant back... how long would his imaginary Federation hearing take until it turned into a court martial? 

The Defiant shook when the Maikong opened fire, just a shiver glancing off their shields without doing any damage. The flare of it crept up the lower edge of the windows, blood-coloured in the cold, only to be extinguished again.

_Home,_ he thought as he sunk his teeth into the side of an exposed throat and chuckled darkly at the low moan it earned him and the eager scrambling of clawed hands down his back, begging him to embrace the blatant ferocity of it, turn it into rapture against the skin of this morning's lover.

He needed to go home, away from all this and its beguiling, corrupting influence. But deep in the hollow feeling inside his bones he knew he was never going to. There were ways, of course, countless in the depth of the galaxy, but they were out of his reach, unknown to science in his lifetime, unachievable distances away and even his stolen, sophisticated spaceship could not take him there.

Early on, he had replicated a bowl of fortune cookies. A moment of nostalgia when he had stumbled across a recipe and a collection of messages in the historical database. Alone in his quarters, when he had been feeling nostalgic and heard himself think too loudly, he had broken the first cookie and crumpled it all over the window sill.

_You could never live in the Utopia you dream of._

Since then, the cookies sat untouched in their bowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"There is a whole world of crushed rivers and unachievable distances."_  
>  — Federico García Lorca
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Author's Note:** Have I ever told you how I've never actually watched the last two episodes of season one? And how I've never even watched episode thirteen all the way through? No? Well, now I did. I think it sums up the chances of me watching season two quite nicely.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Last revised on 03/February/2019_


End file.
